Between the Moon and New York City
by whitesheepcbd
Summary: Kurt arrives in a small coastal town in North Carolina to join his dad and Carole for a few days of their vacation, but under duress. He can't imagine that this sleepy southern town has anything to offer him...till a very attractive local goes jogging by on the beach.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is for the Kurt-Blaine Reverse Bang of 2015. Many, many thanks to my artist riverance, who created the beautiful artwork to go with the story. Please visit her tumblr to like and reblog her fanart! Thanks also to riverance for her patience, as I was dealing with stressful circumstances in my personal life during the writing period and had to push back our posting date more than once. Idea-bouncing and cheerleading services by notthatbea, proof reading and beta on this chapter by neyronrose.**

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Was he being punked? He couldn't think of any other explanation. This dinky airport couldn't possibly be real. That puddle-hopper he took from Charlotte had landed here in the parking lot. There were two 'gates' here at New Bern, if you could even call them that. They were really just doors, but the lettering over them clearly said Gate One and Gate Two. Hold on, there was a third door off to one side. Three gates. Ten strides across a seating area had him through another doorway and he was in what looked like the meet-and-greet area of the airport.

Kurt stopped, taking it in as other passengers strolled by. What _was_ it with this state and rocking chairs at their airports? The last one had had them too. But that one at least felt like an airport. This place felt like some giant child's toy, their version of those plastic Little People setups that had entire towns built around them.

He sighed, hiking his carry-on higher up on his shoulder. Not like he'd used anything in the bag anyway. He'd hoped to catch up on reading his fashion magazines on the flight, but found himself unable to focus. The pictures of the latest styles from the spring fashion shows had blurred on the page and the drone of the airplane lulled him into resting his head against the window till he dozed off.

"Kurt! Kurt!" A familiar voice called him from across the room. So no, he wasn't being punked. This joke of an airport was real and he had a ride waiting.

In spite of his reservations about the place, he couldn't help smiling at the man in his familiar ball cap, breaking into a jog to meet him. Boyfriends had come and gone over the years, but his dad remained the most important man in his life, his constant through everything.

They met in the middle, grabbing each other in what Carole called the 'Hummel Hold,' keeping their grip on each other for those few extra seconds. No awkward one-armed pat on the back for the Hummel men. When they hugged, they meant it. Kurt buried himself in his dad's shoulder—not flannel for once, but a short-sleeved T-shirt—and breathed him in unashamedly. He didn't care if he looked like a needy toddler being picked up at daycare. This was his dad who he hadn't seen for months and Kurt needed to confirm his presence with all his senses.

"So glad you're here, Kurt." With a clap on the back, his dad let him go, holding him back at arm's-length to get a look at him. "Damn, have you lost more weight? You're wasting away to nothing, kid."

"Eight shows a week, Dad." Kurt rolled his eyes. "Under bright stage lights, that are enough to make you sweat before you start singing and dancing."

"Well, don't worry. Carole will fatten you up this week. C'mon, we'll get your luggage." He slung an arm around his shoulders and walked past a tiny snack bar, around the corner to a single conveyer belt which was already moving, luggage starting to appear. "I'm glad that you got a couple days off work, finally. We've been trying to get you down for the past three summers."

"Hard to get time off when you work on Broadway, Dad." Kurt refrained from telling his dad that he didn't want to be fattened up, that would hardly help him at his job. He needed to stay lean, and sometimes even be mean, to stay ahead of the next generation of actors hungry for their big break.

"Don't you always tell me that's what understudies are for?"

"And worry about coming back to find I've been replaced? No thank you. There it is." He strode forward, sidestepping a woman in an unseasonably summer dress as she turned away from the belt, and reached in to grab his Diane von Furstenberg suitcase before it could pass by. Though from the looks of the tiny conveyer belt, it wouldn't take long for it to come back around again. He lifted it to the floor, pulled the handle up and dodged a small child yelling 'I see it! I get it!' as he darted past Kurt. A pair of harried parents with twins in a stroller followed the aspiring luggage porter.

"Just the one? You didn't bring your closet?" his dad asked.

"Ha…ha….ha," with a roll of the eyes.

"I know my kid, that's all."

"Let's go, Dad. I'm here, I might as well see this place you keep going on about. With the water and the sun and whatever else makes you love it so much." Kurt tipped his one—admittedly large, but just one—suitcase onto its wheels and strode for the nearest door. He didn't know his way around this miniscule terminal, but there only seemed to be two doors leading out and both of them were on the same side of the building, so he assumed they went to the parking lot.

He walked out of the recirculated air of the building and into the warmth outside, which he appreciated even as he squinted his eyes closed against the glare of the white sunlight and too-blue sky. He fumbled for his sunglasses.

"Oh my God….is it always this bright here?"

"You don't have sunshine in the big city?"

"Not like this….the buildings are too tall to let this much sunlight in. Besides, it's still winter there." Sunglasses on, he cautiously opened his eyes again and after a moment, adjusted to the glare. "All right, let's go."

Suitcase loaded in the back of his dad's old familiar pickup truck, they stopped to pay the parking attendant ("Fifty cents? Really? How can they even make enough to justify a parking attendant?") and soon found themselves on Highway 70 East, heading toward somewhere called Havelock according to the signs.

"Is that where we're going, Dad?"

"Nope, Havelock is a military town. Cherry Point is there, it's a Marine base. We're going through Havelock and through part of Morehead City, to get to Atlantic Beach. That's where our rental is."

"Is the house right on the beach?" Kurt knew it was. This was Dad and Carole's third year vacationing in this area, and the first two summers they'd been several blocks away from the beach. This year, by coming before the summer rush and reserving months in advance, they'd managed to get a rental on the oceanfront. He'd heard about it on the next phone call.

"It's a pretty laid-back place, a lot of people rent vacation houses there for a week like we're doing. Or they live in Raleigh, that's about three hours away, and own a second home here, they come down every weekend and enjoy the sun and sea. Not many people live at the beach year-round, but the ones who visit and keep coming back, they're all pretty friendly."

"Hmm." Kurt hummed. He didn't plan to be here long enough to get friendly with the vacationing population. He was here to see his dad and Carole, and then jet back to his home in New York. "So what is there to do?"

"Mostly?" Burt Hummel shrugged his shoulders back against the seat, loose and easy with one hand on the wheel. "Relax. That's what you do."

"In other words, nothing. You're telling me there's absolutely nothing to do." Kurt let himself slump into his seat and closed his eyes, silently contemplating a week of nothingness in a small Southern town. What was he to do _here?_

"Well, I'm here," his dad's voice broke in to his mental whining. "Carole's here. Spending time with us isn't something?"

He rolled his head, opened his eyes to look at him behind the wheel. His dad's eyes were fixed on the road, and he'd straightened his posture in an unhappy way. Kurt sat up, trying to summon a smile.

"Sorry, Dad. Of course I'm happy to spend time with you and Carole. I've just gotten used to a faster-paced lifestyle, these last ten or so years. And I'm tired. I was up early to catch my flight." He yawned in emphasis.

"You do look tired," his dad cut his eyes across at him as he came to a stop light. "And I'm thinking from more than just one early morning. You've looked tired for months, Kurt. You kept trying to tell me it was just a blurry Skype image, or you were rehearsing extra hard for a new show, but I wasn't buying it. You're worn down, and a week of doing nothing is probably just what you need. Why do you think I campaigned so hard to get you to join us down here?" The light turned green again and he refocused on driving.

"Alright, Dad. You caught me. I'm tired. Eight shows a week on Broadway will do that to you."

And the endless rehearsals, the dance classes and vocal coaching, the never-ending auditions to find that next elusive job that would keep him from having to file unemployment. Not to mention trying to have a social life outside of work, though he'd had limited success with that. The New York dating scene was and was not everything he'd hoped for when he'd arrived there straight out of high school with his best friend Rachel. It was so much easier to be out and proud there, and there was no shortage of men ready and willing to date him, have sex with him….but the novelty of all that had worn off long ago. But he didn't mention any of that to his dad. New York had been his dream before he moved there, and he still loved it….but damn the city could wear a person down.

"Put your head back and rest, buddy." His dad was looking at him again like he knew what Kurt had been thinking about. "I'll wake you when we get there."

The too-bright sun shone down on him, even through the window and his sunglasses, when he put his head back and closed his eyes, giving him a pink view of the inside of his eyelids. He only had time to wonder if that would bother him, and then wondered nothing else.

"Kurt? What are you doing up so early?"

He turned from the view of the beach through the sliding glass doors and summoned up a sleepy smile for his step-mom.

"Morning, Carole. I couldn't sleep. I think it's too quiet here. I can't sleep past 5:00 am unless I'm blocking out the sound of trash trucks and police sirens. And even in the city I'm usually up by seven."

She went over to the coffee pot to pour herself a cup from what he'd already brewed. "I'd think you'd be used to sleeping late, with your late hours at the theatre."

"Yeah, you'd think….but I usually have a dance class, or our stage manager calls an extra rehearsal, or…." Kurt trailed off and sighed. "It's a tough career, if I don't keep working to continually improve, this year's NYADA grads will be happy to take my spot."

She regarded him over her cup as she took a sip of the steaming liquid. "Well, this is a good place to take a breather for a few days. There are worse places to be early in the morning than looking out on this beach. The view's nice. Some mornings, nicer than others." She gave him a wink that his brain was still too preoccupied to figure out. "I'm taking a cup to your dad, be right back. Enjoy the view."

The view was admittedly pretty, but not that spectacular….just tall grass between here and the beach, made tough by the exposure to salt and ocean breezes, then sand and water and sky. A _lot_ of sand and water and sky. Kurt sighed, missing his city so much he could almost feel it like hunger pangs in his stomach. His city, where every square inch of it was filled with so much hustle and bustle, so many people, air filled with car horns honking, three languages being spoken at any given time, the rumble of the subway train, the rattle of the taxis….great, now he was going to have "42nd Street" stuck in his head all day.

He scanned his gaze up and down the view afforded him from his vantage point, looking for something to break up the monotony. What was he to do with all this open space? All this emptiness to fill?

Well, not quite empty. A jogger appeared at one end of the beach, eating up the sand with steady strides. A dog appeared right after him, bounding ahead of its owner and into the surf, then jumping back out and running in joyful circles around him before pouncing into the surf again. The man kept his course through all this, apparently accustomed to his dog's antics.

With precious little else to do, Kurt sipped his coffee and watched the lone jogger's progress. A few minutes later, when he'd drawn level with the beach house where Kurt stood, the man stopped and bent over. Hmmm. Kurt was developing a greater appreciation for this beach with every inch that Jogging Man's shorts rode up. He watched as he threw a large stick out into the surf, which the dog jumped after. Kurt blinked, suddenly feeling more awake, when Jogging Man pulled his shirt over his head.

The nice body which had been hinted out under the baggy shirt was now on full view, with only a small pair of clinging red shorts leaving the final details to the imagination. Kurt slid open the glass door and walked out on the deck, getting himself just a few feet closer to the eye candy. He was still plenty far enough away that he had no fear of the man noticing him as he ogled the display, and the crashing of the waves on the beach would easily mask the low swish of the door.

The dog bounded out of the white-capped waves. Kurt had forgotten about it entirely, it must have disappeared into the watery abyss. But it had captured its quarry—the stick was clamped firmly between its jaws. Droplets flied everywhere, visible even at this distance, as the dog shook the water off, causing Jogging Man to turn his head but give no other apparent protest. Kurt was already imagining those droplets running down mystery man's chest, which he dearly wanted a closer view of.

"I see this is one of the 'nicer-view' mornings," Carole said behind him, causing him to jump and nearly drop his coffee. He steadied it and turned to glare at her.

"You scared the daylights out of me!"

"Scared you? Or embarrassed you?" she smirked back. "Nothing wrong with looking, and that's all you're doing. Right?"

"Yeah," he muttered, turning back to the house to go inside. He could feel how his face was flaming. What was it about parents that upped the embarrassment factor of any situation by a factor of ten?

Carole stood in the doorway, blocking his path and not moving even when he raised his eyebrows in an obvious request.

"In case you'd like to do more than look, his name's Blaine, he's a local schoolteacher. He's gay, and out, and not currently dating anyone. And he jogs by here about this time most mornings. Worth getting up early for, don't you think?" While he stood there, gaping at her, she turned back into the house. "Don't leave that door open, Kurt. Bugs will get in."

If he had to be up early for the second morning in a row, then a little yoga on the beach would be a good way to spend his time, right? He hadn't done yoga in ages, he didn't want to get stiff while away from dance class and performances.

Actually, he'd never done yoga on a beach. But the beach seemed to be where the action was, so. He found a relatively flat section of sand and kicked off his sandals, wincing at the crunch of damp sand and bits of shell under his feet. He was willing to bet he'd still have beach sand between his toes even after a shower, and Kurt Hummel did _not_ like being dirty. There weren't many incentives strong enough to justify getting covered in salt water spray and beach sand. He glanced up the beach in the direction mystery man—Blaine, Carole said his name was—had appeared from yesterday. He squinted into the rising sun, but there was nothing but sand, water, and sky. And a few birds gathered on the beach, pecking at the ground. Did worms live in beach sand?

Well, best get to it. A sun salutation seemed an appropriate way to start, with the sun barely over the horizon. Palms together at chest level, he breathed deeply. The air smelled thick with a collection of unfamiliar smells, salt water he supposed. He arched back, feeling his vertebrae settle into the new position. Deep breath while he held the pose, another deep breath and he bent down into a forward fold. Breathe in, breathe out. Lunge position, head up toward the endless ocean just a few feet away. The lapping of the waves, just big enough to crest white before settling again, created a lulling effect that wasn't a bad background for yoga practice. Breathe in. Settle into plank, both hands now flat on the sand, and Kurt was already focused enough on his breathing and positions to almost not feel the grittiness beneath his palms. Almost. He ignored it. Breathe out. Lower into….oh hell no.

He came out of his trance as he realized that the next move in the sequence would mean lowering his face and chest into the sand. No. His feet and hands were one thing, but he drew the line at putting his face in it. He modified, going directly from his plank position into a downward dog. Wow, he could really feel it in his lower back and hamstrings. How had he gotten so stiff? He danced several days a week, a very strenuous workout that required cardio endurance, and strength, and flexibility….when had his back locked up like this?

He kept breathing, eyes closed and trying to focus on his body, on where he felt tightest and when the position had limbered him up enough to allow him to stretch just that little bit further. Breathe in, breathe out. Head down and loose. He pedaled his feet back and forth, realized they were just a bit too close and inched them apart to widen his stance. Lean back into the hips just a little more…..something poked him between the legs.

"ARRRGH!" Kurt fell face-first into the sand, scrambling up as quickly as he could, heedless of sand flying everywhere as he clawed for purchase and looking for his assailant. A dog—at least he thought it was a dog, the monster was _huge_ —stood before him, panting and looking entirely too pleased with itself. Its tail wagged and the head cocked to the side, as if asking a question. A long pink tongue lolled out as the dog panted.

All pretense of tranquility gone, heart racing after that unexpected nudge in a place that he didn't invite just anyone to touch, and even then he always knew it was coming….Kurt tried to slow his breathing back to normal. The dog didn't seem to be aggressive, it had just been a bit inappropriate with its greeting.

"Who-" he started, and realized he had sand in his mouth. Gross. He tried to spit it out, ended up swallowing some, and used the sleeve of his workout shirt to wipe his mouth before trying again. "Who do you belong to, huh? You shouldn't be out here by yourself." He tried to speak in a soothing tone, which he thought was right for dogs. He'd never had one growing up, and in the city, all dogs were kept on leashes. And none of the city dogs were this _big_. He was accustomed to dainty poodles with their fur dyed outrageous colors, little booties on their feet to protect them from the pavement. This dog, though….its back was nearly level with Kurt's waist. From a few feet away, it looked like the top of its head came up to his armpit. He could only _hope_ it was friendly, as he watched it closely for any sudden moves.

"Reba! Get back here!" A voice called from down the beach.

Kurt risked looking for the source of the call, and oh dear God. It was the jogger from yesterday. This was his dog. He hadn't recognized it, but then he'd been more concerned with ogling the shirtless man yesterday, than looking at the dog. The man was flat-out running to reach them, unlike his steady pace of yesterday, and called the dog again.

Reba—what kind of name was Reba for a dog?—put its tongue back in its mouth and trotted to meet its master. He came to a halt, panting himself, and pointed at the ground. "Sit," he said sternly, and the animal dropped obediently to its haunches. The man produced a thin leash from his pocket and secured it to the dog's collar before looking up at Kurt from under thick lashes.

"I'm so sorry, did she scare you? She didn't jump on you, did she?" He wrapped the leash around his hand and stepped closer, keeping the dog by his side. Now that he was only a couple feet away, Kurt realized he was slightly shorter than himself. He was still wearing his shirt, unfortunately. Or maybe it was a good thing. Probably wouldn't make the best first impression if Kurt started drooling during their first meeting. He'd leave that to the dog. He realized the other man was still waiting for an answer, starting to look concerned.

"No," he said finally. "She didn't jump _on_ me really, just, umm…." How to phrase this delicately? "Poked her nose somewhere I wish she hadn't."

Blaine closed his eyes in mortification.

"I'm so sorry. I will give her a stern talking-to when we get home. Again." He jiggled the leash in his hand, and the dog looked up, happy to be the center of attention. "What have I said about appropriate ways to greet people, huh?" he said to the dog, who didn't look chastised in the least. "But she didn't hurt you?" he asked Kurt.

"No. Just interrupted me in the middle of a downward dog." Blaine's eyes widened, and Kurt realized what he'd said. They stared at each other for a long second, before the mirth burst out and they both laughed openly.

"Umm…" Kurt wiped under his eyes, trying to gather himself. He held out a hand. "I'm Kurt."

"Blaine." The return grip was strong, made gritty by the sand still clinging to Kurt's hand, and lingered just a moment longer than strict politeness demanded. His eyes, a light hazel that stopped just short of being gold, still twinkled as he released.

Kurt looked down to stop himself from staring, and found himself being stared at instead.

"And this is….Reba?" he asked. After Reba McIntyre, maybe? Country music was big in the South, right?

Blaine chuckled. " _Mer_ -ee-da," he corrected, exaggerating the syllables.

"Merida? You must have kids," Kurt said, disappointed. Carole had said Blaine was unattached, but then again, how could she know the life story of the man who happened to jog by on the beach every morning?

"No, what makes you say that? Do you have kids?" The dog, hearing her name, had stuck her nose in Blaine's hand and he stroked her absentmindedly, his eyes on Kurt.

"No, but…" He quirked a brow back at him. "What kind of man without kids, names his dog after a Disney princess?"

"What kind of man without kids _knows_ that Merida is a Disney princess?" Blaine shot back.

Kurt struggled to find a suitable comeback, but settled for, "Okay, fair enough. So why'd you name her that?"

"I didn't, actually. My younger cousin Stacy did. But she was hard to say no to and I liked the name, so why not keep it?"

"Hmm." Kurt chose not to comment further on the name choice. He tried to think of something else to say, something that would keep Blaine here talking for a while longer, but he was drawing a blank. What he was really thinking _(OMG you're gorgeous and I saw you take your shirt off yesterday and I just arrived here and there doesn't seem to be anything to do and I'd like to take you out but I don't even know for sure if you're available and I wouldn't know where to take you anyway because I just arrived yesterday)_ didn't seem like appropriate conversational topics for someone he'd known all of five minutes. Instead he said lamely, "Well, I'll let you get back to your run. It was nice meeting you."

Blaine glanced at his dog, then down the long stretch of beach.

"Would you maybe want to join me? Just for a walk I mean. We can talk more and I promise I'll keep this monster under control." He hesitated, glancing down and back up again. "Unless you want to get back to your yoga."

"Well….I guess a walk down the beach burns calories too, right?" Kurt answered, not trying to dim his smile. He looked around for his sandals, finding them several feet away and closer to the water than he remembered dropping them. He slipped his feet in and turned back to the gorgeous man waiting for him. "Shall we?"

They turned together and continued in the direction Blaine had been jogging. The sand took some getting used to…his feet kept sinking down and then sliding one way or another, forcing him to pull his feet out with each step. Looking ahead, Kurt could see a long pier that started on the beach and extended several hundred feet out into the water. There were people on the pier, who at this distance were little more than specks.

"Most of them are probably fishing," Blaine said, just loudly enough to carry over the waves. "The fishing enthusiasts get started early."

"So do you, apparently." Kurt glanced sideways at him. Blaine's hair curled wildly, tousled even more each time the wind gusted. "The sun's barely up and you're already out on the beach jogging."

"Well, this one," he patted Merida's side, "needs a good run once a day or she's impossible. So it works better for everyone if we both get up and out early, get our exercise out of the way. Besides, I'm used to getting up early for work, nine months of the year."

"What do you do?" Kurt asked, though of course Carole had already told him.

"I'm a teacher."

"Oh, what do you teach? What ages?" He tried to sound enthusiastic, though the thought of teaching a room full of unruly children didn't appeal to him in the least. There was a reason he hadn't gone to traditional college to get a Bachelor's degree.

"Music. Kindergarten through eighth." A wide smile brightened Blaine's face.

"You must like it," Kurt commented.

"I love it, though I have to admit that I'm very glad to have this week off. I need this spring break, believe me. More than I ever have in nine years of teaching." Kurt started to ask what had been different this year, but before he could Blaine asked, "So what do you do?"

"I'm an actor in New York."

Blaine stopped, his arm jerked forward as Merida continued on her way, before she realized that she needed to stop as well.

"In New York City? Like, Broadway? Musicals?" Blaine stared at him.

"Yeah," Kurt answered, feeling his smile widening.

"I can't believe I ran into a Broadway actor on the beach." Blaine shook his head in wonder, and Kurt realized that a decade ago he'd have been even more star-stuck to meet someone who worked on Broadway. He'd been so eager then, fixated on the bright lights of the Great White Way. When had it become a job? "What shows have you been in, what roles have you played?" Blaine's question brought him back from his musings.

"Shall we keep walking?" Kurt asked, gesturing at the beach to give himself a moment to focus on the conversation.

"Oh, yeah. Hey, do you mind if I let her off the leash? She's used to being able to run out here."

"That's okay."

He released the dog, who immediately ran at the flock of gulls just ahead of them, causing them to take flight with a cacophony of indignant screeching.

"So…which shows have you been in? What characters have you played?" Blaine asked, ignoring the birds and his dog now barking at the waves.

"Well, most of my jobs have been in the ensemble, so my characters don't really have names." Kurt wondered if Blaine would be disappointed, but the other man's smile never dimmed.

"How long have you been working on Broadway?" he jumped in with another question.

"I guess it's….been ten years now? Ever since I graduated from NYADA." Kurt's steps slowed, looking at the wet sand as he realized what he'd just said. Ten years….wow. He hadn't really stopped to think about it, but it really had been a full decade of auditions, and rejections, and ensemble jobs and bit parts. Ten years of curtain calls, and endless rehearsals, and the amazing friends he'd made in the theatre world.

"Hey, where'd you go?" Blaine asked.

Kurt looked up at him. "Sorry, I was just thinking. I hadn't realized it'd been that long. But it really has."

"Ten years of good experiences, I hope?" Blaine asked.

"Hmm…mostly. Can you honestly say that all your experiences as a teacher have been good?"

"Well, no."

Their eyes met and held for a moment, before Blaine looked away with a slide of his golden eyes. Kurt had been wrong to think they were 'almost' gold. Here in the bright sunlight, they were amber gemstones, a hue he'd never seen in human eyes.

"Merida! Get away from that!" Blaine bellowed suddenly, startling Kurt out of his silent admiration. "Come here, now!"

The dog stood over a mass of feathers on the ground, wagging her tail. Oh God….was that a dead bird? Had the monster dog killed a bird while he and Blaine made googly eyes at each other?

"I mean it, Merida! Get back here! Heel!" The dog whined, but trotted back to them. "It's back on the leash for you," Blaine grumbled, clipping it on to her collar. "Sorry to cut this short, but I have a feeling she was rolling in that while I wasn't looking-" He lifted his fingers to his nose, and made a face. "Yep, she was, so I have to get her home and give her a bath."

"Eww," Kurt said.

"Yeah." Blaine grimaced. "Downside of owning a dog. Should we head back?"

He was loathe to let his time with a cute guy end, but when a gust of wind blew rancid dog his way, he nodded. They turned back, heading into the sun now, and Kurt suddenly realized how much higher the sun was than when he'd walked out on the beach. He hadn't planned to stay out this long, and he was actually getting a little warm in his yoga pants and long sleeved shirt. He pushed the sleeves up and fanned his face.

"I can't believe it's this warm here. When I left New York, there were still huge mounds of snow piled up on the sidewalks, and people were bundled up on heavy coats with gloves and scarves."

"Oh yeah, we saw the snowstorms on the news," Blaine said. "One of the times when I'm very grateful to live here. Looks like you got mommicked with winter up north."

"We got _what_?" Kurt couldn't help but ask, after replaying Blaine's last sentence in his head and still tripping over the mystery word.

"Oh, mommicked," he repeated, laughing a little. "Sorry, it's local slang from Down East. It means…well, aggravated if you want a simple translation. But it's more than that, when a person says they're mommicked they've been annoyed and aggravated to the nth degree. Have you ever had one of those days when you're so annoyed with life and the human race, that you're an inch away from murdering the next person who looks at you wrong?"

"I live in one of the most congested, and some say the rudest, cities in the country. Of course I've had those days." Kurt gave an eye roll.

"Okay, so on those days you were mommicked."

"Or on the days I go to an early rehearsal, then a dance class, then an audition that I don't get a callback for, and then still have to be at the theatre by 6:00 for a performance and don't get home till after midnight, on those days I've been mommicked." Kurt tried the unfamiliar word out on his tongue.

"Exactly! You get a sticker for learning a new vocabulary word!" Blaine beamed, and Kurt could just picture him at the front of a classroom with that same proud look. "So who are you playing now?"

"Oh, umm." Kurt was still trying to stifle a laugh, because he didn't want to mock Blaine. "David in the _If/Then_ revival. My best friend Rachel is playing the lead, so we get to work together which is fun."

"Oh, I love that show."

"You've seen it?" Kurt asked, surprised. "You didn't mention you've been to New York."

"Well…I did go to New York once but it was on a school trip and _If/Then_ isn't really the kind of show that our chaperones would take us to see, y'know?"

Kurt laughed. "Right. Not the most family-friendly show."

"But I listened to the cast recording over and over, and watched, umm…bootlegs?" he admitted, clearly unsure about Kurt's reaction.

He laughed. "I'm not going to call the copyright police on you, Blaine. Before I moved to the city, I watched more than a few bootlegs myself. In fact, I still occasionally search for bootlegs of the shows I'm currently in. I consider them to be a barometer of how popular the show is," he winked, and Blaine laughed, obviously relieved.

They kept talking all the way back, till they came to end of the boardwalk leading to the house Kurt's parents had rented for their vacation and he regretfully told Blaine they'd arrived at his stop.

"You're staying here? This is one of the vacation rentals, right?" Blaine asked, looking up at the beach cottage on its stilts.

"Yeah, apparently. I didn't rent it, my dad and step-mom did."

"For how long?" Blaine asked.

"I think they rented it for a full two weeks, they've vacationed here before and really like it. But I'm only here for a few days. They finally twisted my arm into joining them."

"Twisted your arm? Is it so awful here?" Blaine raised his eyebrows.

"Well, today's my first full day, and so far it's pretty good," Kurt grinned.

"So why didn't you want to come?" Merida whined and Blaine reached down to pat her quiet.

"Well, it meant taking time off work, which is hard to do when you work on Broadway, and it meant leaving New York. Even if the city wears me down sometimes, I fought like hell to make New York my home, and it finally is. The idea of leaving it to spend time in a-" Kurt cut himself off, embarrassed by what he'd been about to say.

"In a backwards, redneck Southern town?" Blaine guessed.

Kurt grimaced. He knew he could be arrogant and judgmental sometimes, but he did try to not let that side out within an hour of meeting an attractive man.

Blaine sighed, leaning back against the boardwalk's handrail. Merida flopped down next to him, panting. "Look, few people know better than an out gay man that there's still some truth to the stereotype, but the South _is_ changing. Slowly, but it's changing. NC achieved marriage equality in 2014, a year before the SCOTUS decision that made it nation-wide. And over the past sixteen years that I've lived here, I've seen it change a lot." A wide grin spread across his face. "One of my eighth-grade students came out last week, just before the break, and most of his classmates hardly blinked. The few who did mind, know better than to cause any trouble, because there are strict anti-bullying rules. I call that progress." His expression darkened. "Much better result than when I came out."

Kurt waited, while those obnoxious birds chattered next to the water and he could feel the rising sun heating the back of his neck.

"What happened?" he asked softly.

Blaine hesitated. "You know what, I don't mind telling you but it's a long story. Would you like to meet later, and we can talk some more?" he asked hopefully. "I'd love to say we can just go now, but…" He looked down at his furry companion. "I need to get this one bathed, and get cleaned up myself. If you don't mind meeting me somewhere in a couple hours, we could have an early lunch together."

"I'd like that," Kurt smiled. This trip was looking more positive all the time. "Meet where?"

"It's shaping up to be a pretty day," Blaine smiled. "How do you feel about picnics?"

A picnic. Wow, he hadn't been on a picnic since…well, there was the one date with that guy who brought a picnic to Central Park, but that was years ago. Kurt was usually too worried about grass stains on his jeans to enjoy sitting on the ground, but maybe he could make the sacrifice for a cute guy. He tried to summon up some enthusiasm when he answered, "If you're the one asking me to the box social, my answer is yes."

"Don't worry, you won't have to bid on lunch. Just meet me at Fort Macon at noon, and I'll bring everything."

With a final smile and a wave, Blaine shook the leash to wake Merida and jogged back the way he'd come.

* * *

 **A/N: I'm late getting this posted here, so the second chapter is already up on Tumblr and AO3. Visit my account on either of those sites if you want to read chapter two today. I have the same username on all fandom accounts. You can also see the fanart if you look at chapter one on Tumblr or AO3.** **Or you can read chapter two when I post it here tomorrow.** **I hope to have chapter three up this weekend.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Editing and beta-reading on this chapter by neyronrose, gottriplets, and notthatbea. Thank you, ladies!**

* * *

Blaine pulled up to Fort Macon and parked as close as he could to the entrance. There were only a few other cars in the lot, and half of them probably belonged to the staff. Although it was a popular tourist destination in the summer, on a March weekday he and Kurt should have the place virtually to themselves. Perfect. Grabbing the insulated cooler and blanket on the seat next to him, he slipped out of the car and walked down the brick and stone path leading to the bridge.

When he was a kid he'd made up stories in his head about this fort, how the short bridge was instead a drawbridge that had to be raised to protect the castle inhabitants from the approaching dragon. He'd imagine the moat filled with lava, or look out from the top walls of the fort onto the water and almost see the enemy fleet coming to attack.

He usually went into the fort itself, but today he had a different objective. This historical landmark was only his setting. He couldn't believe he'd run into a very attractive man on the beach, who just happened to work on Broadway in New York. He was like Blaine's dream guy, custom designed in his fantasies and then brought to life. He'd said he was only here for a few days, but Blaine would enjoy the company of a cute and interesting guy for as long as he could.

Meeting Kurt this morning had reenergized him in a way he hadn't felt for a while. He loved his life here in Carteret County, he loved his family and his job and the kids he worked with….but something had been off in his life lately. He felt stagnant, like murky sea water caught in a tidal pool after the water had long since ebbed out. Meeting Kurt was like the tide coming back in, bringing all the oxygen of the sea with it.

He chose a spot on the wide grassy top of the outer wall of the fort, close enough to the path that he could see Kurt come in. From here they could look down into the grassy moat between the double layers of thick walls, or look out over the water. Beaufort Inlet was clear and calm today, and with the blue skies and white clouds, Blaine couldn't have asked for more cooperation from Mother Nature.

He spread out the blanket and was just opening the cooler when a shadow fell over him. He looked up, then up some more past long legs encased in tight jeans and a slim waist broadening out to a very nice chest and shoulders, the throat covered by a neckerchief. Blaine blinked and forced himself to make eye contact, grinning at his new acquaintance. "Hey."

Kurt was studying him like he was a puzzle to be figured out. "You look…different."

"I was going to say the same about you." Blaine glanced down at himself, realizing that although this was his typical style, Kurt would hardly know that after only seeing his sweaty windblown jogger look this morning. "This is my Mr. Anderson persona." He touched his throat self-consciously. "The kids especially like the bow ties," he offered, waiting for Kurt's verdict.

"Well then, your kids have good taste," Kurt smiled as he lowered himself to the other side of the blanket and sat with his legs folded to one side. It didn't look like the most comfortable position and he realized that Kurt probably couldn't sit any other way in jeans that tight. _Think about something else, Anderson._ "I think the suspenders are probably my favorite of the ensemble," Kurt commented, still openly checking Blaine out.

Blaine shrugged, laughing at little at himself. He knew what he looked like. "It's not the typical look for around here, but I find it works for me, especially when I'm teaching."

Kurt looked out over the stone walls. "What is this place?"

"Fort Macon. It was last used during the Civil War. Site of a major battle and everything." Blaine pulled two water bottles from the cooler and passed one to Kurt. "We can walk down after lunch and read the information boards if you want, and there are some interesting displays set up in the rooms downstairs, showing what it would have been like to live here as a soldier."

"Why'd you want to meet here?" Kurt asked. "I mean, it's unique, but just wondering why you chose it."

"Well, it's a nice day and I thought an outside picnic sounded nice. Besides, I've always felt a connection to this place." Blaine was taking containers out as he talked, taking the lids off, sticking plastic utensils into the food. "One of my ancestors helped to build it."

"Really?"

"Yep. My four-times great-grandfather was head of the stonemason crew. He also worked on Cape Lookout Lighthouse."

"Is that around here?" Kurt asked, looking out over the water.

Blaine laughed. "It's close by, but you won't see it from here. You have to get on a boat. I'll take you there if you want."

"Hmmm. Maybe," Kurt said noncommittally. He looked down at the spread as Blaine handed him a paper plate, and seemed to really look at the food for the first time. "That's…umm, that's a lot of shrimp."

"You're not allergic, are you?" Blaine asked, panicking. "I should have asked you that."

"No, not allergic. It's just….it must've cost you a fortune."

"Didn't cost me a cent," Blaine said smugly.

Kurt stared at him. "Did you rob a seafood market? Because-"

Blaine laughed, unable to hold it in anymore. "Look where we are," and waved an arm at Beaufort Inlet. "The seafood is right there, all you have to do is go out and get it. Or know someone who can get it. Half my local family are fishermen, including my uncle who caught all the shrimp. So dig in."

"That much shrimp in a New York City restaurant would probably cost thirty dollars," Kurt said. "Just the shrimp, not including the rest of the meal or drinks or tip."

"Not here," Blaine shook his head and held out the container.

"Okay then." Kurt took a large spoonful of chilled boiled shrimp and some potato salad, and Blaine relaxed. Then Kurt pointed at one container and asked, "What's that?"

"Oh, you're going to want to try that. It's a shrimp-cheese spread. You put it on crackers usually, I have them right here." Blaine plopped a large dollop of the spread on Kurt's plate, and held out a sleeve of Ritz crackers for him to take a few. "There's fruit salad too. And if you like to dip your boiled shrimp, take some of this." He put another spoonful on his plate, this time of a salmon-colored sauce. "It's a family recipe. I swear, it was only a couple years ago that they let me learn the ingredients. When I first got here, I innocently asked what was in it and thought I'd be tarred and feathered and run back to Ohio on the first train."

"Wait—Ohio?" Kurt looked up, food forgotten. "You're from Ohio?"

"Well, I grew up all over," Blaine said, filling his plate. "Military brat. But Ohio was where I lived for three years prior to moving here, which was the longest I stayed in any one place for my first twelve years. So it felt as much like home as anywhere, before this."

"Where exactly in Ohio? I grew up in Lima." He started to answer, but Kurt was just dipping his shrimp in the sauce and taking a cautious bite. He closed his eyes and popped the rest in his mouth. "Wow, you weren't kidding. This sauce is awesome."

"Told ya so," Blaine laughed. He'd been waiting for Kurt to try it. "I lived in Westerville."

"That was about an hour and a half away," Kurt mused. "So not exactly next door, not like we would have run in to each other at the mall."

"No. But it's still odd that we lived that close to each other, and then met on a beach in NC." Blaine moved, using a leg to hold down one side of the blanket that was flapping up in a slight breeze.

"Mm-hmm," Kurt agreed around another mouthful. They sat and ate quietly for a moment. "So…what was it like, growing up in a military family?"

"It was fun in my early years, I never knew any different than a life of moving around a lot. I was born in the Philippines, that's where my parents met. Mom was born there, Dad was stationed there for a couple years. They got married and I think my mom regarded all the travel from base to base as a big adventure, so she made it into one for me too. She always stayed at home with me full time, gave me all her attention. I was a total mama's boy when I was little." He gave a self-deprecating huff of laughter. "That's probably not the most brag-worthy thing for a grown man to admit to."

"Hey, my mommy was my best friend when I was little." Kurt raised his bottle of water. "A toast, to mommies and mama's boys everywhere."

Blaine chuckled as he tapped his water against Kurt's.

"No siblings?" Kurt asked, reaching for more of the shrimp cheese spread. Blaine offered the crackers again and waited for a large family with several loud kids to pass by into the fort before he answered. So much for the fort being quiet.

"One half-brother. My dad was married before, early in his military career, and he said his first wife just wasn't cut out for the military. They had a son together, Cooper. He's…well." Blaine hesitated, always unsure how to explain that he had a brother but didn't feel like it. "He's ten years older than me, and always lived with his mom, so I only saw him once or twice a year."

"So you were practically an only child."

"Yeah." He felt the small twinge of regret that he associated with his brother, the wish that they could have known each other better. "What about you?"

"I grew up as an only child too." Kurt hesitated and Blaine thought he was about to say something else, but instead he speared another shrimp. "Where does Cooper live?"

"He's in California mostly, unless his work takes him somewhere else. He's an actor, but on screen, not stage. And uh…not a very good one really. He spent a couple years in New York and tried to be a theatre actor, but when he couldn't get his big break there he went back to LA. He does mostly commercials, but you'd think he had ten Oscars on his shelf the way he brags about his career." Blaine stabbed at a pineapple chunk on his plate, leaving fork indentations in the Styrofoam.

"Has he done anything I'd recognize?"

"Uh, yeah," he answered, reluctant. He chewed and swallowed and made himself say it. "His most successful commercial aired nationally, that one for the credit rating company?" Kurt shrugged so Blaine started singing the jingle and had barely gotten the first line out before Kurt gasped.

"That's your brother?" He set his plate down to gesture wildly with his hands, and Blaine recognized the sitting-down, over-enthusiastic version of the choreography from the TV ad. "The Free Credit Rating Today commercial? That guy? Oh my God, he's gorgeous!"

"Yeah, he is. That's my brother, the gorgeous successful actor who lives in glamorous LA and has everything." Blaine looked down at his plate, and picked up a cracker to spread cheese and shrimp on just to give his hands something to do.

"Well, one thing is very clear," Kurt said softly, breaking the tense silence that had settled between them. Blaine glanced over to him. "Good looks run in the family." He stretched out one long leg to tap his shoe playfully against Blaine's, and winked, making it impossible for Blaine to do anything but smile back. "Sore spot?" Blaine see-sawed his hand in a 'sort of' motion. "I'm sorry if I ruined the mood."

"You didn't, it's fine." Blaine smiled, trying to show that he meant it. "My brother and I aren't close, and it's something I regret. But it's a pretty day, and I'm eating a picnic lunch with a cute guy, and I'd rather talk about happy things."

"You think I'm cute?" Kurt batted his lashes.

Blaine grabbed a grape from the fruit salad and threw it at him. "Oh, don't even try to pretend you don't know what you look like!" He laughed as the fruit bounced off Kurt's carefully coiffed hair. He smoothed it and sent a glare Blaine's way.

"Oh, this is Southern hospitality, huh? Getting attacked by food?" He grabbed a cracker from his plate and threw it. Blaine ducked and the cracker flew over him, followed almost immediately by the screech of a gull.

"Oh, you've done it now." Blaine looked over his shoulder as several gulls swooped down from nowhere, fighting over the cracker and creating a din with their high-pitched calls. "Should've thrown further, Kurt," he told him as he turned back, to find that the other side of the blanket was empty. Kurt stood several feet away, staring at the flock of birds. The tension in his stance suggested a field mouse hiding under a leaf, hoping if it stayed still enough the hawk wouldn't see him.

Blaine stayed in his seat on the blanket, grinning now. "You don't have birds in New York City?" he asked.

"Not like those," Kurt answered, wide eyes still on the flock who'd stopped fighting now that one had flown away with the cracker. But several of them were still there, strutting around and poking their beaks into the grass in search of another tasty treat. "We have pigeons in Central Park. They're not that big or noisy."

"We saw the same type of birds on the beach this morning, you know."

"They weren't that close." Kurt was still watching them as if ready to bolt if the flock moved any closer.

"They'll get bored in a minute and fly away, once they realize we're not going to throw any more food their way. Come on, come back and sit down."

"I think I've had enough to eat. How about we see the fort?" Kurt suggested, still watching the gulls.

"Okay. Let me pack up." He put everything back in the insulated cooler with its ice packs and motioned for Kurt to follow him to his truck so he could put it away. "Let's go see the house that Tyler built."

They walked down the bridge into the center courtyard of the pentagon-shaped fort, and Blaine led Kurt inside the stone-walled hallways to show him the rooms that were furnished the way they would have been during the Civil War, with mannequins in period-appropriate military uniforms. He noticed that Kurt asked the volunteer on duty several questions about the costumes. He wanted to know what material the uniforms would have been made of, and what the rank insignia meant on each mannequin and even what the undergarments would have been like for a soldier. After he'd bemused the old lady with his questions about underwear, Blaine led him back out to the courtyard so they could inspect the canon, then they climbed the stone steps up to the top of the inner wall, giving them a view of the water.

"It really goes on forever, doesn't it?" Kurt asked, his eyes scanning the horizon.

Blaine chuckled. "Not quite forever, but pretty far, yeah."

"I'm surprised there aren't more people on the beach, on such a pretty day."

"Well, the water's still pretty cold this early in the year, and classes are still in session for most schools. Come back in July, there'll be hundreds of people out there. Would you like to take advantage of the quiet and go for another walk on the beach? Just us this time, no wild dog getting into stinky dead things?"

Kurt shuddered. "Don't remind me. But sure, we can walk on the beach."

They passed through the courtyard again, and Kurt paused to read an information board that he'd missed the first time through. Blaine stepped away, to the wall of the fort, and placed his hand on one of the many stones that created the structure. He closed his eyes, trying to block out the chatter of the few tourists, focusing on the timelessness of that single stone beneath his palm. He knew, logically, that the fort had been rebuilt and repaired any number of times since its initial completion. The chances of that particular stone being the same one that was laid in the 1830s were slim. All that aside, he did this every time he came to the fort.

"Blaine?"

He blinked his eyes open to see Kurt looking at him quizzically.

"Little tradition of mine," he shrugged, dropping his hand. "I like to touch one particular rock for a moment. I always wonder if my ancestor touched that same exact rock."

Kurt nodded in understanding, though Blaine felt he was just humoring him.

They stopped by Blaine's truck again so he could dig around in the cooler and pull out two bottles of water which he put in a messenger bag, then walked up the steps that led from the parking lot to the loose sand of the dunes.

"Tell me, Blaine…"

"Hmm?"

"Am I going to have beach sand in my shoes for a week after this vacation?"

He looked down at Kurt's admittedly fabulous looking, but not very practical, Doc Martens. "No…you'll have sand in your shoes for a month."

"Wonderful."

Blaine snorted a laugh. "Not much of an outdoorsy person, are you?"

"Let me think….." Kurt stopped in the path and feigned deep thought, staring off into the distance and tapping his chin. "No, I'm not. There's a reason I live in New York City."

"I figured you lived there to be close to Broadway."

"That, too."

The white sand of the dunes that slipped and crunched under their feet gave way to the more solid damp sand closer to the water. They headed down the beach, staying in that narrow strip between loose sand and the continuous motion of the waves.

"So you told me what role you're playing right now," Blaine said. "Tell me another role you've played recently, or a favorite role. I know! Tell me your very first Broadway role!"

Kurt laughed. "Which is it, Blaine?"

"Okay then, dealer's choice." He kicked a shell out of the way and told himself to calm down. He didn't want to scare Kurt off by being an obsessed fanboy.

"Well…it wasn't my very first Broadway role, but it was my first big role where my character actually had a name and I wasn't just a face in the ensemble. I played Jack in _Into the Woods_." Kurt smiled fondly at the memory.

"I love that show!" Blaine gasped. "And that's a great role, I've played it myself!"

"What?" Kurt stopped to stare at him, the ocean breeze just barely ruffling his hair. He must have a ton of hairspray in it. "You didn't say you were an actor."

"I'm not," Blaine tried to downplay it. He hadn't meant to blurt that out. "Not like you, not professionally. I've done some community theatre, that's all."

"But that's awesome!" Kurt's face split in a wide grin. "We've played the same role, we have to compare notes. Final note on 'Giants in the Sky'…any problems?"

"My range is better than that, thank you," Blaine scoffed. "I never had—nope, hold on, I did have trouble with it one night, but I was coming down with a cold. I still got the note out but it wasn't as strong as I wanted and I cracked a bit at the end. I was mortified but my director said it was okay, it played off as high emotion. Did _you_ have problems with the note?" he challenged.

"Oh please, I'm a countertenor. I can hit that note and keep going up the scale." Kurt affected an arrogant manner, making Blaine laugh, before remembering something else to share.

"The chicken…what kind of chicken did you have? Ours was a remote control one and it was being operated by the stage manager in the wings, and I swear she couldn't drive it. One night I had to dive for it because the S.M. was about to run it off the stage and into the orchestra. I barely caught it…can you imagine the conductor getting bonked in the head with a fake chicken and having to hand it back to me?"

Kurt laughed at the mental image, the first out-loud, uninhibited belly laugh Blaine had heard from him. And it was a beautiful laugh, snatched away too soon by the breeze.

They strolled along the beach for a while longer, still telling stories about their experiences with that role, till Blaine suggested they stop to enjoy their dessert.

"You brought dessert out to the beach?"

"I did," Blaine said smugly. He plopped down on a stretch of sand and opened his bag to pull out not only the water, but a Tupperware container with brownies in it and napkins. He realized Kurt was still standing. "C'mon, Kurt. It's just nice clean beach sand, your jeans will wash."

Kurt sighed but lowered himself to the sand gingerly, then shook his head a little when Blaine took the lid off to reveal the treats.

"What's wrong?" Blaine asked. "You don't like brownies?" He handed Kurt a napkin and was glad when he took it. Why did he look like that, didn't everyone love brownies?

"Oh, it's not that. I love brownies. I was just thinking about my parents trying to fatten me up this week. I'm starting to wonder if you're not in cahoots with them."

"I have a feeling there's more to that story, but only if you want to share it." Blaine was taking the lid off a Tupperware container as he spoke, and offered it to Kurt so he could pick his brownie first. Instead, Kurt took the container from his hand, took out one brownie, and set the box in his lap. "Umm…" Blaine waited for an explanation.

Ignoring him, Kurt took a bite, closing his eyes as if in appreciation. "This is a very good brownie," he said without opening his eyes.

"Thank you. I made them myself."

"Well done. This brownie is so good, in fact, that I think it should be earned. Therefore, whoever can tell the biggest sob story about their life— _truthful_ sob story—gets to have all the brownies to themselves."

Blaine bent over, face almost touching the sand as he chortled. "Oh my God, I can't believe you're pulling that stunt!" He straightened up and tried to compose himself. "Well, assuming I want to go along with this, you've already started eating. You didn't earn that bite, mister!"

He scrutinized the small square in his hand. "You're right. So I'll tell one sad fact about my life to earn the bite. I can tell you that I was bullied in high school for being gay. Tossed into dumpsters on a daily basis." His nose scrunched as he made a face.

"Gross. I never got the dumpster tosses, thank goodness." Blaine shuddered.

"Are you telling me you have no sad facts to tell me, to earn your bite?" Kurt held the brownie—still with only one bite taken out of it—out to him enticingly.

"Oh, hardly. I only said I wasn't dumpster-tossed. Gimme that brownie." Blaine took it before breathing deep and stating as blandly as he could, "Shortly after I came out, I was gay-bashed at a Sadie Hawkins dance, and so was the boy I was with. We both ended up in the hospital."

"Oh, no." Kurt leaned closer, placing a hand on Blaine's knee. "Obviously you got better. Was he okay?"

"Yeah, eventually." Blaine shrugged. "It was a long time ago."

"It's never too late to drown your sorrows in chocolate. Go ahead, you'll feel better after a bite."

Blaine humored him and took a bite before handing it back. "Your turn. One sad fact."

"My dad had a heart attack when I was sixteen and spent several days in a coma before waking up. I thought I was going to lose him and it was probably the scariest, loneliest week of my life." Kurt took a bite, and chewed contemplatively before turning back to Blaine. "This is an awful game. Why are we doing this?"

Blaine stared at him, then cracked up. "You suggested it!" he accused.

"Well, I'm obviously an idiot. Why didn't you stop me?" Blaine didn't answer, too busy trying to stifle his laughter.

"Why did you suggest it, Kurt?" Blaine wiped tears from his eyes, still laughing but he really wanted to know.

Kurt made a face. "I thought it might be a shortcut? To us getting to know each other better?"

"Or you could have just asked?"

"Too obvious. Too easy." Kurt passed the Tupperware to him. "Let's just eat our brownies. They really are too good to ruin with tears. Let's pick a different topic."

"Okay." Blaine took a brownie and napkin and chewed a bite while thinking. "We were having fun talking about theatre. Tell me about being on Broadway, what it's actually like to be a professional stage actor. I only know the amateur side of it."

"Oh, God….that's a loaded topic. I could go on for hours about the good and the bad. Want to narrow it down a little?"

"Tell me about…" Blaine thought for a moment. "Tell me about the first day of rehearsal for the show you're currently in."

"Oh. That one was interesting, because on the very first day we didn't even rehearse, really. Hardly touched the scripts. Instead we played a lot of those getting-to-know-you games, and trust games, to help us bond as a cast. Then we all sat on the studio floor and our director asked us to talk about the turning points in our lives, the moments that defined us and made us who we are, especially those moments when things didn't just happen to us, but we made deliberate choices that changed our lives."

"And what did you tell about?" Blaine asked, curious.

"One I already told you about, when my dad had his heart attack. But when the director pressed me to name an event that I proactively chose, that would have to be moving to New York when I was eighteen."

"Eighteen, wow. That was brave."

"Well, I went with my best friend Rachel. So at least we had each other. I don't think I could have done it by myself."

"Still, you made the leap. I admire that."

"How about you? What were your defining moments?"

"Umm…" Blaine stalled while taking a bite and chewing. What big choices had he made in his life? "I guess, when I decided to live here, that was a pretty big turning point."

"And how old were you?"

"Fourteen."

"I'm sorry, what? You moved here on your own at fourteen? Where were your parents?"

"Not on my own, I had family here."

"But you said that _you_ decided to move here. Not your parents. I'm confused, Blaine. What happened?"

Blaine sighed, and gave up on any pretense of eating. He set the brownie back down in the plastic box and sealed the lid. "I suppose I should back up and explain from the beginning, huh?"

Kurt nodded, and set down his napkin as well, turning more fully toward Blaine and giving him his full attention.

"When I was about twelve, things got….hard." He glanced at Kurt, and found him listening, gaze intent on Blaine. "We'd been in Ohio for about a year I guess, and I came out to my mom. Just my mom, because I was afraid of my dad's reaction. You know, military mentality, gotta be macho and tough, all that."

"How'd your mom react?" Kurt asked.

"Oh, she was great. Turns out she'd suspected for a while, but waited for me to be ready to say it. And when I did say it, well….she just gave me a hug and said nothing would ever make her love me less." Blaine smiled at the memory, even as he felt the old familiar pain that he associated with his mom.

"That's great," Kurt said softly. "My dad was great too. I wasn't as brave as you, I waited till I was sixteen. But when I finally did it, I couldn't have asked for him to be more supportive than he was."

"Your mom wasn't supportive?" Blaine asked.

Kurt hesitated. "My mom died when I was eight," he said. "So it was just me and my dad for several years."

"I'm sorry," Blaine said, always feeling stupid to say sorry to someone for losing a loved one, but what else was there to say? Nothing made it hurt less, as he knew well enough.

Kurt shrugged. "It was a long time ago, and not that I wouldn't give anything to have her back, but my dad remarried when I was in high school and my stepmom's great. So I could have had it worse." Silence for a moment. "I'm sorry, I hijacked your story. You were telling me about coming out to your mom. When did your dad find out?"

"Well, turns out you and I have more in common than a love of Broadway," Blaine huffed out a laugh, but there was no humor in it. "I lost my mom too, about a year after I came out. I didn't find out till after her funeral"—his voice broke and he fought to steady it—"that before she died, she told my dad herself. And he said she told him if he wasn't 100% supportive of me, she'd come back and haunt him." He laughed again, and this time it felt genuine, because it just sounded so much like his mom, he could hear her voice saying it. Sweet and demure she was most of the time, but she could turn into a force to be reckoned with when it concerned her family.

"I'm sorry," Kurt whispered, his voice barely carrying over the sound of the waves. "Sounds like she was amazing."

"She was."

"And….was your dad supportive?" Kurt asked after a moment.

Blaine hesitated. "He tried. But….I don't know, it's like he didn't know how to relate to me any more, as if I was a different person once he found out I was gay. And without my mom there to be a buffer, a connection between us, without her there to smooth the way, our relationship was never the same again."

"So how did you end up in North Carolina? Did your dad get stationed at that military base nearby? What's it called?"

"Cherry Point," Blaine supplied. "And no, he didn't get transferred there. The summer after my mom passed away, my dad was still stationed in Ohio, and I came down here to spend a couple months with my cousins. I'd done it before, but only for a couple weeks, not months. That summer…." Blaine trailed off, looking back toward the fort and the American flag flying over it, visible even at this distance, then back at Kurt with a shrug. "Just seemed like my dad and I could use a break from each other, so I asked if I could stay most of the summer."

"And you ended up staying for good?"

"Yeah. While I was here that summer, my dad got orders to transfer to Japan. He asked my aunt and uncle if I could stay here a while longer, start the school year here, just till he got settled in the new post and then he'd send for me. But a couple months later, when he said I could go live with him…..I could tell his heart wasn't really in it. I don't think he had any clue how to be a parent without my mom. She'd always taken care of making a home for us, no matter what country we were in. So I asked if I could stay here permanently. I'm pretty sure he was relieved."

"I bet he missed you though," Kurt said softly.

"And I missed him. But honestly, this seemed like a better place for me to be. I'd spent my childhood moving from one country to another, one school to another….the idea of staying in one place for all my high school years, attending with my cousin Sam, who's not only my cousin but my best friend for life….at the time it seemed like paradise."

"It's pretty, I'll grant you that," Kurt mused, looking out over the water again. "But it's not paradise anymore?"

"I guess…it's a case of always wanting what you don't have?" Blaine smiled ruefully. "As a fourteen-year-old who'd just lost his mom and had always moved around a lot, getting to stay in one place for a few years, with an intact loving family, it was what I needed, you know?"

"That makes sense. You must have felt really lost back then." Blaine nodded. "And now?"

"Now? I've been here for sixteen years. It's really weird to say it out loud."

"Miss your days of moving around all the time?"

"Not really. I don't want to move every two or three years. I'm not sure I want to move at all, it's just…" Blaine pulled his knees up and rested his chin on them, staring out over the water. "You know I told you I teach kindergarten through eighth grade?"

"Yeah."

A beep sounded and Blaine realized it was Kurt's phone, but the other man made no move to answer it, so Blaine continued.

"Well, the majority of my eighth grade students this year, who'll be graduating in a couple months and moving on to high school, are the same students who were in kindergarten my first year of teaching. One of them pointed that out to me the other day, saying how she felt so lucky to have had me as a music teacher all the way through elementary school." Blaine smiled at the memory, at Anna's wide smile and her blonde hair wisping loose from her ponytail.

"That must have been a proud moment for you."

"It was. And I'm so, so honored to have been a part of these kids' lives, and it was so sweet of her to tell me how she felt. But it just made me realize how long I've been teaching, and when I realized that my first kindergarten babies will be high school freshmen next year…" Blaine sighed. "It just feels like they're moving on, shooting for bigger and better things, while I'm still in the same place."

"Ever feel like doing anything about that?" Kurt asked. Blaine looked over at him, not sure how to respond. "This could be your _If/Then_ moment, you know." Kurt's eyes crinkled as he smiled at him and Blaine couldn't quite tell if he was joking or not.

Kurt's phone beeped again and Blaine said, "You can answer that if you want." He was grateful for the distraction from Kurt's direct gaze, asking if he was ready to make big decisions about his life.

"Sorry, it's probably my dad," Kurt said as he drew it from his pocket, reading the screen. "Oh…my parents want to know when I'll be back. I do feel a little guilty, I came down here to spend time with them and then immediately run off to a picnic date with someone I just met." He glanced up. "Not that you aren't worth spending time with," he smiled, "but I probably should spend the rest of the day with them."

"Sure, I understand. And I promised I'd help my uncle and cousin with something this afternoon." Blaine started putting things back in the bag. "Are you…free tomorrow, maybe?"

"I feel like I should spend tomorrow with my family," Kurt said, and he sounded regretful. "But the next day?"

"Sure! Actually….my aunt and uncle are having an oyster roast that evening at their house in Bettie, last one before the season closes." He tried not to sound too eager. "Would you like to come to that? Your parents can come too, that way you don't have to feel guilty about not spending time with them."

"I'm not sure what an oyster roast is, but if you're there and I can spend time with my Dad and Carole too, sounds like a win-win."

They exchanged phone numbers with the promise to touch base the next day and finalize the details, and Blaine worked hard to restrain his air-punch that he had Kurt's number. Would it be too forward to text him on the way out of the parking lot?

He stood and adjusted the strap of his bag across his chest, then reached down a hand to help Kurt, who was still fiddling with his phone. He looked up with a smile, pocketed his phone and took Blaine's hand, standing. He was wiping the seat of his jeans free of sand when Blaine's phone vibrated in his pocket.

From Kurt:

 _Thanks for lunch!_

"You're very welcome," he responded out loud, and grinning, held his hand out. Kurt hesitated but took it, swinging their hands between them. "C'mon, let's see how much more sand we can get between your toes on the way to the parking lot," Blaine teased, and Kurt only groaned, looking down at his expensive shoes.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Many thanks to neyronrose for her quick response to my request for a proofreader.**

 **Also a belated thanks to gottriplets, notthatbea, and neyronrose (again) for beta and proofing on chapter two. I forgot to acknowledge their contributions when I first posted that chapter.**

 **Warning for discussion of Finn's death in this chapter.**

* * *

The first time Kurt woke on that day, he squinted at the barely-there light leaking through the blinds and rolled over to go back to sleep. Perhaps this place was rubbing off on him, just a little. He had no rehearsals, auditions, or classes to attend today. Absolutely no reason to get up early if he didn't want to. And he didn't want to. Especially not today.

It was the buzzing of his phone on the nightstand that woke him the second time. Blinking against the now-bright glare of the sunlight, he groped for it and held the phone in front of his bleary gaze to read the text from Rachel.

 _Hey. How are you coping today?_

He sighed, forcing sleep-numb fingers to operate well enough to swipe the phone awake and respond.

 _Just woke up. Managed to avoid reality so far._

From Rachel:

 _I was up at 5:30. Had a dream. Jesse got up with me and made me tea_.

From Kurt:

 _Glad you have him. And that he's good about this every year._

From Rachel:

 _Glad you're with parents. Tell them hello and send hugs._

From Kurt:

 _Hugs to you too. Talk more later._

A heart emoticon was the only response. Kurt sighed, letting the phone fall to the comforter, letting his eyes slip closed again. He could hear his dad and Carole moving in the house, somewhere nearby. Then a faint swish that he recognized as the sliding glass door leading to the porch and the house breathed silent once more.

Kurt stayed for just a moment longer, almost surrendering to the seductive pull of the mattress inviting him to stay, ignore reality just a little longer….but forced himself to roll over and sit up on the edge of the bed. He took a moment to point and flex both feet, then roll them in circles, testing out the stiffness of an old dance injury. It still caused him problems occasionally.

After going through the minimum necessities in the bathroom, he took a deep breath and left his room, as prepared as he was going to be to face the day. The living room was empty but he could see his parents' backs as they sat on the porch and then, oddly enough, heard their laughter. He paused en route to the coffee pot and instead went to the glass door. He hovered on the inside, reluctant to disturb them where they had their heads bent together over a photo album, but Carole saw him and waved, calling him to join them.

He slid the door open and stepped over to peer down at the book. Very few people kept photo albums anymore, but Carole liked them. She'd put together several after Finn's death, chronicling the last years of his life much as she'd made baby albums detailing his first few years.

This one seemed to be focused mostly on the Glee Club. There was himself in the second row of a posed group shot, all of them in their Regionals costumes. Finn was on the back row of course, with tiny Rachel improbably in the back row with him—but Finn was holding her up so she wouldn't get hidden by those taller than her, which was everyone.

Kurt smiled at the picture, then walked around to the front of Carole's chair, bending down to give her a hug.

"That's from me and from Rachel," he said to her surprised face when he pulled back. Her eyes softened as she understood. "She's already texted me this morning."

"She's grown into a fine young woman," Carole murmured, with all the might-have-beens etched on her face. "I have to admit that back then I doubted whether she'd ever become a little less insufferable, but she did. If things had turned out differently, I'd have been proud to have her as my daughter-in-law." Her voice caught a little and Burt reached over to hold her hand. "All you Glee kids turned into wonderful adults. I'm proud of all of you."

Kurt smiled, getting an idea. "Let me get some coffee, and I'll be right back. We can go through that photo album from the beginning, okay?"

He stepped back inside and pulled his phone from his pocket, quickly scrolling through his contacts to create a massive group text. After shooting off his message, he turned the ringer off and poured his coffee, returning to the porch to pull up a chair and join his parents in reminiscing about the son and brother they'd lost.

By the time they'd proceeded chronologically through Finn's high school years, which was dominated by football and Glee club, after Kurt had dredged up memories that even his usually-good memory had relegated to the mental attic and covered over with dust, when their coffee cups were empty and the three of them sat in silence looking out over the endless horizon, Kurt pulled his phone from his pocket. His former New Directions friends—and even those ND members who came later and he hadn't known that well—had risen to the occasion.

From Unique:

 _Finn cast me as Rizzo, and stood up for my right to play the role, when no one else at McKinley would treat me as a girl._

From Quinn:

 _Finn stepped up, ready to take care of my baby, even though he was 16 and I knew he was terrified. I'll never forget that, and I'll never forget how his mom let me stay at their house after my parents kicked me out._

From Mike:

 _A loyal friend who stood tall on his two left feet._

From Sue Sylvester:

 _I'll never forget that Finn and Kurt packed up my sister's belongings, and arranged her funeral. They had every reason to hate me, but instead chose to be kind. There's a lack of kind people in the world, and we lost one of the biggest—literally—in Finn Hudson._

From Santana:

 _Finn was nice to everyone, even a bitch like me. Until the day I needed someone to bitch right back at me, then that's exactly what he gave me._

From Brittany:

 _His anthems were always the perfect length for his really long legs_.

From Sheldon Beiste:

 _Finn lived a good line. And my line has been better for knowing him._

From Marley:

 _Finn believed in his students. Really believed._

From Puck:

 _Best bro of my life. I'll never have another friend like him._

From Ryder:

 _Finn was the one who recruited me into Glee Club, and in that club I made some of the best friends of my life._

From Will Schuester:

 _I always tried to be a role model for Finn, show him how to be a man. But I learned just as much from him._

From Tina:

 _I hear the name Finn and I still tear up, all these years later. That should tell you what kind of person he was._

From Artie:

 _When the football jocks bullied other kids, Finn was the only one to say it was wrong. He stood up for everyone, popular or not._

From Mercedes:

 _That boy had one of the kindest souls I've ever met. Earth became a little poorer, and heaven a little richer, on the day he left us._

From Kitty:

 _He always gave everyone a chance. And a second chance._

Carole read down the list with care, her eyes filling with each new text bubble. By the time her tears were on the verge of spilling over, Burt had grown concerned and crowded in next to her to see what she was reading. She handed the phone to him wordlessly and turned to Kurt, laughing through her tears when he had a tissue ready for her.

"You Glee kids were always so close," she sniffled as she wiped her face. "You were like, well, siblings really. You all fought and drove each other crazy, but you always stood up for each other too."

"We did." His voice cracked a little and he swallowed. "And we remember our own, Carole. Not a single person who was ever in New Directions with Finn, as a teammate or a student of his, will ever forget him."

Burt looked up from where he was scrolling through the texts. "Uh, Kurt. You've got an incoming video call." He handed the phone back so Kurt could get Rachel up on the screen, then hold the phone out where they could all see.

"Hi, guys." Rachel's smile on the small screen was tremulous but genuine. "I couldn't just send a text, I needed to see you."

"Of course," Carole responded. "You always call me on this day each year. How are you, honey?"

"Oh, using up a lot of tissues, and being even more of a diva than usual," Rachel admitted with a laugh. "I'm so lucky Jesse puts up with it. How are you?"

Carole looked to her left and right, taking in the Hummel men on both sides. "We're all remembering together, crying a little and laughing a little. We'll get through it, we always do."

Rachel only nodded, clearly not trusting herself to speak.

"Rachel…" Burt turned the phone slightly more toward himself to be sure she saw him. "You take care of yourself, okay? Today and every day. It's normal to cry a little, but Finn wouldn't want you to waste too much time weeping over him. You live your life, it's the best tribute you can give him."

She nodded before the sob she'd clearly been holding back finally broke loose, snatched back in again almost as quickly. A hand appeared from off screen to circle her shoulders before the screen turned again to show Jesse St. James leaning over.

"Burt, Carole, Kurt…I think I'd better get her off before she really melts down." The picture shook before they could see the back of Rachel's head, buried in Jesse's shoulder. His hand stroked her hair, before she pushed away from him, wiping her face.

"No, no. I'm fine. I mean, not fine but I can say goodbye." She wiped her face before looking into the phone's camera again, and Kurt crowded in close to Carole to see her. "I know I say this every year, Carole, but thank you. Thank you for raising Finn to be the person he was, who made my life happier in the time I knew him, and my life is still better for having known him. Thank you."

"You're welcome, honey. And thank you for loving him. I'm so glad you call each year."

Kurt leaned in, turning the phone toward him. "Rachel, I'll call you again tomorrow, when we're both a little happier. We'll talk about the latest theatre gossip, and happy things."

"It's a date," she smiled through her tears, still holding Jesse's hand on her shoulder.

"Oh! Ask him about the date he had yesterday-" Carole grabbed for the phone but Kurt stood quickly, holding the phone out of her reach.

"Oh my God, Kurt! What date? Tell me!"

"Bye, Rachel!" he waved as he disconnected, the picture blinking to black on her indignant face. He looked down at his stepmother who was nearly giggling, hand over her mouth. "Really, Carole? You had to tell her?"

"Oh, let her have her bit of fun, Kurt." His dad was being no help, grinning widely.

Kurt groaned. "You realize I'm going to get the third degree from her tomorrow. She's going to spend the whole night compiling a list of questions for me."

"Exactly, Kurt. Which means she won't spend the night crying." Carole winked at him, her smile at odds with the tear tracks still showing on her cheeks. "That's worth a small amount of embarrassment for you, isn't it?"

He was struck, once again, by how lucky he'd been in his parents. All his parents. He sat beside Carole again, taking her hand. "Yeah."

"Not like you weren't going to tell Rachel everything anyway," his dad said.

"It's always nice to talk to her each year. She never forgets to call. I'm happy for her that she's moved on and gotten married, that she's happy now…but I'm happy that she hasn't forgotten Finn either."

"She won't. Ever. No one who knew Finn is going to forget him," Kurt assured her.

"Y'know, some people can live four times as long as Finn, and not have the impact that he did. You should be proud of the mark he left on the world."

"I am. And you should be too, you played a part in making him the man he became." Carole wiped her eyes one more time before sitting up straight, aiming a watery smile at both of them. "Well. I wanted us to take some time today to remember Finn, and we have. But it's too pretty a day to spend it sitting here crying. What do you boys say to a walk on the beach?"

"Anything you want," Burt said easily, while Kurt just nodded.

"I'm just going to wash my face." She disappeared inside, leaving Kurt and his dad looking at each other over her empty chair.

"Doesn't get much easier, does it?" Kurt sighed. "Every year on this day, it just…" He slumped back in the chair. From the corner of his eye he could see his dad shrug.

"It does get easier in some ways. In others, nope. Hasn't so far and I doubt it ever will." He leaned forward, elbows on knees. He took off his ball cap and ran a hand over his shiny pate. "But I'm not sure I want it to get easier, y'know?"

The all-weather cushion squeaked under Kurt's head as he turned to look at his dad. "Why wouldn't you want it to get easier?"

"Cause if it stopped hurting, that would be like we stopped caring. Like we started to forget. Think about it." His eyebrows raised in challenge. "Your mom's been gone twenty-three years, Kurt. Has _that_ stopped hurting?"

"No, Dad. Of course not." He couldn't imagine that he'd ever think of his mom without a touch of sadness. Even his very best memories of her—faded to mere impressions over the years—were tinted with her loss.

"Does it hurt the same way now, that it did when you were eight?" his dad asked.

He shook his head with a small smile as the door slid open again and Carole stepped out. "Ready to go, gentlemen?"

Having learned his lesson the day before, Kurt didn't wear his nice shoes to the beach for their walk. Instead he slipped on sandals, then ended up taking those off and carrying them in his hand before they'd gone very far. The sand was damp and slightly cold under his feet, just as it had been during yoga yesterday, but it was still a source of astonishment to him that he could go barefoot at all in late March.

"I'm surprised you're letting your toes get that dirty, Kurt."

"Would you believe that I sat down in the sand yesterday, Dad? Of course, there were brownies on offer."

"Being offered by a really cute guy, hmm?" Carole looped an arm through his and forced him to slow his long strides to match hers as they walked together.

"Cute, totally hot, adorable, easy to talk to…were you trying to set me up all along, Carole?"

"I can see I'm going to be left behind in this conversation real quick," Burt muttered, ambling along on Carole's other side. Kurt leaned forward to look past her at his dad.

"Did you know about Carole's plans to set me up, Dad?"

"I know nothing, kid. Totally innocent."

"Well, you haven't mentioned dating anyone seriously for a while, Kurt. And we happened to be down on the beach early one morning when he was jogging and got talking to him. He seems like a nice young man. You must have gotten a good first impression too, since you ran off to a lunch date with him before you'd even been here a full day."

"Hey, I apologized for not being here yesterday. And I'm here today, right?"

"Yes, you are, and I'm thankful. Glad to have one of my sons here." She sighed, and Burt threw an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close against his side, bending his head down to talk to her softly.

Kurt stepped away on pretext of picking up a peach-colored shell fragment, turning it over in his hands as they stopped walking, heads still close, their backs to him. Kurt waited a few feet away. They were hardly unaware of his presence but they needed a moment alone.

It never ceased to amaze Kurt, how his Dad was such a rock for Carole on this day each year. He knew his dad had his own pain. He'd thought of Finn as a son and mourned his loss as well, but he put his own grief aside to be strong for his wife. But then, Kurt had also seen what a rock Carole was, for him and his dad, on the anniversary of his mother's death each year.

Seventeen years, the two of them had been together. Kurt had never had a relationship that lasted seventeen months. Seventeen weeks? Maybe? It was hard to remember, it all blurred together. He'd dated lots of guys in New York.

He could barely remember the fresh-faced, naïve boy he'd been when he'd gone there with Rachel, so desperately hoping to find what everyone else had seemed to have so easily in high school, and all around him in Lima. All his friends dated, and hooked up and had sex, and were able to attend their prom in couples….except him. As the only out gay boy at his school, he'd been outside all that.

He'd wanted so badly for things to be different during his college years. He was in New York, after all. Surely he'd find the epic love story he'd dreamed of since he was small?

But reality turned out to be rather different, as Kurt gradually came to understand that his lack of dating opportunities hadn't been due solely to the scarcity of out gay boys in Lima. It was also that romance seemed to be dead. Instead of a three-hour Technicolor film, what he got was a commercial for condoms. It wasn't so hard to meet guys—half the male students at NYADA were gay—but he always got the feeling they were looking for a quick hook-up, and his eighteen- year-old self resolved to hold out for something real, something that could lead to seventeen years of marriage and the kind of support he saw his parents demonstrating in front of him now.

And then Finn passed away, and Kurt drowned under the tidal wave of emotion surrounding the funeral, and the cleaning out of Finn's room, and all the other rituals of death that he'd been too young to really notice when he'd lost his mom. And when he returned to New York to finish out the semester, he felt hollowed out, wrung dry of all emotion. It was difficult to even fake sufficient emotion for his assigned scenes in acting classes….but those emotions weren't his. They belonged to the character he was playing. He could manage that. His own emotions, though…

When Adam, who'd asked him out several times before Finn's death, asked him again, Kurt had accepted. And woke up the next morning in his bed, a bit freaked out by what he'd done but nevertheless remembering the night before and knowing that he'd felt something. His emotions weren't broken. He could still feel. Maybe it was only a shadowy imitation of what he'd once hoped for from his first time, but then again, how could he really know what he was supposed to feel? He had nothing to compare it to.

That morning had been awkward at first, but Adam had been kind and patient. Kurt didn't feel any great rush of romance for him, but he was grateful just to have someone to hold him close in the night.

They'd dated for a few months, until Adam decided to move back to his native England and try launching his career on the West End. Kurt had been relieved in a way. By then he knew that he'd never have his epic love story with Adam, but he had no concrete reason to break up the relationship either. It was just comfortable, that's all.

And after Adam….Kurt sighed, flipping the shell in his hand one last time before tossing it out in the ocean. There were a thousand more shells just like it at his feet, just like there were thousands of gay boys in New York. He'd dated, flirted with, and hooked up with quite a few of them. He'd felt guilty sometimes, recalling his Dad's words on the humiliating day they'd had The Talk. _Don't throw yourself around like you don't matter. Because you matter, Kurt._ But it hadn't felt like throwing himself around. It was more like reaching out, over and over, taking the hand that grabbed his and hoping, this time, that the other person wouldn't let go.

"Hey, Kurt! You coming?"

The moment seemed to be over. Kurt tried to summon up a smile and rejoined them to continue the slow amble down the beach.

Carole, eyes still a little watery but forcing a smile, took his arm again. "So, Kurt…where did you go on your lunch date with Blaine? I want all the details!"

"Maybe not all of them," his dad muttered.

"Relax, Dad, it was completely G-rated," Kurt assured him, knowing he wasn't entirely comfortable with what he knew of Kurt's dating life in NYC. He turned back to Carole, willing to provide her with a play-by-play if it would provide the distraction she clearly needed. "What would you like to know?"

"Where did you go?" She squeezed his arm once.

"Have you heard of Fort Macon?"

The late afternoon sun was slanting through the floor-to ceiling windows when Carole excused herself, saying that she had a slight headache and wanted to lie down for a bit. Kurt watched his dad's eyes track her out of the room. He was clearly concerned but willing to let her have her space.

Kurt was feeling a bit drained himself. It had been an emotionally exhausting afternoon, filled with memories of Finn, the messages from his high school friends, and the video call with Rachel. Kurt was starting to wish the day would end already, so he could go to bed and then wake up tomorrow morning, on a day that was _not_ the anniversary of his brother's death. Just a normal day.

His dad slumped in the largest recliner across from him, letting his always-present cap slip down over his eyes, as Kurt curled into the end of the couch.

"How's your show going?" Burt asked idly.

"Fine. We're probably closing at the end of our originally scheduled run though."

"Don't sound so fine to me." Hazel eyes regarded him from under the hat brim. "If it's going fine, why are you closing?"

Kurt sighed. "Shows close for all kinds of reasons, Dad. Doesn't always mean it's not a good show. This show—it's amazing, but it's…." He trailed off. How to explain this to his dad, who even after all these years didn't have the most extensive theatre knowledge? "It's a very _thinky_ show, Dad. And it has its heavy side. It's not the light-hearted, spectacle-laden blockbuster musical that's going to run for years and years so that every new wave of tourists can flock to see it."

"Hmm. So what's next for you then? Auditioning for the next show?"

"I suppose, if anything comes up that I'm suited for."

"It will," Burt said without hesitation.

Kurt let the silence stretch between them for a moment before he said it. "I'm not so sure, Dad."

"What do you mean? You've never had too much trouble finding your next job." His dad sat up slightly in his chair, paying more attention now.

"It's just…I'm not even sure if I _want_ to look for that next job." The words sounded strange, now that they were out, and Kurt realized it was the first time he'd said it out loud. He'd been thinking about it for a while, but hadn't broached the topic with Rachel or any of his other theatre friends. With the single-minded focus on 'making it' on Broadway, he didn't think the conversation would get too far. But his dad though, he'd always been Kurt's safe place.

"You've told me before that if you can't land that next role, you can't pay rent. So what are you thinking you'll do if you aren't working on stage?"

"Oh, you know…go home to Ohio, move back into my old room, mooch off you and Carole." He gave a careless shrug to the ceiling.

Burt harrumphed, not impressed in the slightest. "That's one thing I don't worry about, Kurt. I lost you to New York before you even moved there. The longest relationship you've had in that city, has been _with_ the city."

Kurt chuckled despite himself. "I've never thought of it that way, but you're not wrong, Dad."

"So what are you thinking, Kurt? You gonna leave behind the bright lights? Do something else? You know I'll support you in anything you want to do, but I have a hard time imagining you doing anything else. You've worked so long for it."

"But that's just it, Dad. It's been a decade now. I didn't even think about it till I was talking to Blaine yesterday, and realized just how long it's been. And if I thought I had anything to prove, that I could 'make it' on Broadway as a career or whatever, I think I've done that. A decade of paying my own bills by working on Broadway, nothing left to prove there, is there?"

His dad waited a moment, knowing he wasn't done, then finally prompted him. "But?"

Kurt sighed again. "But if my goal was to 'make it' on Broadway, in the sense of being a household name, or having my name in lights on the marquee, or winning a Tony…at this point, I'm not sure any of those things are going to happen. It's been ten years, Dad, and I've had more dance injuries than I can count on my two hands, I've been rejected a hundred times for every one time I've gotten a paying job. I'm tired, Dad. Feels like I fight all the time, and when I was twenty the fight was exciting. Now…it's just exhausting."

"Knew it," Burt muttered, but there was a certain triumph in his tone.

That wasn't the response Kurt expected. "Excuse me? Knew what?"

"I said when I picked you up from the airport, that you were tired, that you've been tired for months. I….was…right!" A finger wag accompanied the last three words.

"Oh my God, Dad. I pour my heart out to you and all you can say is 'I was right'?"

Burt spread his hands. "Just sayin'"

Kurt rolled his eyes, straightening his legs down the length of the couch. "Are you done congratulating yourself?"

"Yeah, I'm done. So back to my question—what are you going to do with yourself if you're not working on Broadway? I don't believe for a second that you're going to move back to Ohio, so I'm assuming you'd want to stay in New York?"

"Yeah. It's home now, Dad. Not that Lima isn't home," he hastened to assure him, "but Lima is home because you and Carole are there. New York is home because…" He smiled. "It's mine."

"I get it, Kurt. So what else is there for a NYADA grad to do in the big city? Do you want to teach theatre?"

"God no, I'd never have the patience for that." Kurt shuddered at the thought. New York kids were some of the brattiest, most self-indulged kids he'd ever seen anywhere. And the theatre kids were the worst—pretentious and full of themselves. He'd never been like that, had he? He looked up and realized that his dad was still waiting. "Actually, umm…I've been thinking about a different career in the theatre."

"I'm listening."

"Well, you know how I've always had an interest in fashion?"

Burt's turn for the eye roll. "Yeah, I seem to remember buying you a subscription to Vogue for a year or two…or ten."

"Well, I've always gotten along well with the costume designers and other wardrobe staff at every show I've worked on. I can actually talk to them about the clothes, unlike most of the cast who just wear the costume and don't give a second thought to the design of it, or construction, or the fashion history of the time period in which the show is set."

Burt was nodding. "I think I see where you're going with this."

Kurt bit his lip, smiling a little. "I've had more than one costume designer or wardrobe head tell me throughout the years, that if I wanted to make the switch from on stage to backstage, they'd find a job for me."

Burt nodded, eyes serious on him. "And do you think that would make you happy?"

"Won't know till I try, but…I think there's a good chance, yeah."

"Well, like I said, you always have my support." Burt clapped his hands to his knees and stood up from his chair. "I should go check on Carole."

Kurt closed his eyes, listening to the soft shush of footsteps across the carpet, the opening and closing of a door down the hall. He focused on his breathing, on relaxing muscle groups one at a time, trying to recapture that sleep-loose feeling from this morning. Maybe he could nap. He hadn't had an afternoon nap in years.

He yawned, rolled over on his side, pulled the throw pillow under his head almost nuzzling into it…his phone vibrated in his pocket. His only reaction was to sigh internally. He could answer the text later. It vibrated again. And again.

Dammit. Probably Rachel. She couldn't wait for tomorrow to grill him. He gritted his teeth, reaching into his pocket without opening his eyes, only squinting with one eye once the phone was in front of his face.

From Blaine:

 _You doing anything tonight?_

From Blaine:

 _I know you wanted to spend today with your family, but if by chance you're done, my cousin and I are playing music at The Dock House in Beaufort tonight._

From Blaine:

 _Love for you to come._

Kurt blinked his eyes fully open, sitting up to unlock his phone and type a response.

 _I think I can get away. Time? Address?_

He headed for his room without waiting for an answer, already thinking about which clothes he'd brought and how to tell his dad he was leaving for the evening. Maybe this day could have some good in it after all.

* * *

 **I'd hoped to have this chapter up several days ago, and obviously that didn't happen. I'm going to stop making predictions on when the next chapter might be up. I'm still dealing with some very stressful circumstances in my personal life, and working on this story in my limited free time. All I'll say is that each chapter will be up as quickly as I can manage it.**

 **Thanks for reading, and reviews are always appreciated!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Betas: neyronrose and notthatbea (thanks, girls!)**

 **This chapter takes place on the same day as chapter 3, but this time we'll follow Blaine.**

* * *

Shells crunched under his tires as Blaine pulled up to the house on its stilts and cut the engine, beeping his horn once to announce his presence. Grabbing the mail that he'd picked up from the end of the long driveway and opening the door for Merida, he started up the steps, wondering what Kurt would be doing today. Spending time with his family, he'd said, but hadn't offered specifics. They were probably spending the day outside, on a gorgeous day like this. What was the point of vacationing at the coast if you didn't get outside to enjoy it?

A creak announced the opening of the back door, and nails from sixteen paws clattered across the porch just seconds before the pack came thundering down the steps. Blaine stopped and held tight to the railing, because Brandy in particular had a tendency to just run full out and knock down anything in her path, and let them pass by. Merida, halfway up the steps with Blaine, reversed course to follow the other dogs back down the steps, all five of them barking their excitement.

"Cry havoc! And let slip the dogs of war!" Sam stood at the top of the stairs, arms out as he quoted dramatically. The springtime sun glinted off his tousled blond hair. People were always taken aback to find out that the two of them were cousins, since they looked nothing alike. Granted, their genetic relationship was distant, but family ties ran deep in Carteret County and Blaine had been grateful for that since he came to live here at fourteen. He grinned at him as he walked the rest of the way up.

"Watching Star Trek VI again?"

"Nah, Stacy was working on her Julius Caesar paper."

"So for once, you're actually quoting from the original source." Blaine gained the small landing and clasped hands with his cousin, followed by the shoulder bump that passed as a hug. "So what are we doing today? What joyful task have we been drafted for?"

"Cleaning out the packing shed." Sam leaned back against the railing and thumbed over his shoulder in the general direction of the small building. "Dad wants to be sure it's ready when shrimping season opens again in a couple weeks. Then we need to get the oysters for tomorrow night. Low tide at 1:00."

"And where is he today?" It didn't really matter, because Blaine was willing to help out no matter what, but Dwight would usually be here to supervise when it involved one of his work spaces. The packing shed was where he washed, headed and packed the shrimp he caught before selling them.

"Putting his boat on the railways. Dewey called this morning, the boat that was supposed to go up today didn't show so he had an opening and Dad jumped on the chance to get the boat worked on early. He'll be gone all day and tomorrow too, so we get stuck with the chores here."

"Wonderful. Let me set the mail inside and we can get to work."

"Oh hey, anything for Stevie or Stacy in there?"

"Nope, nothing yet."

"Damn. The anticipation is killing them both."

It only took a quick glance as he crossed the screened-in porch to verify that his water boots were still there, piled in the corner with everyone else's, so he'd be equipped for oystering.

Inside, the windows were open to the spring air and a ceiling fan whirred. He set the mail on the counter where Mary would be sure to see it, and snagged a sour-cream-chocolate chip cookie from the always-stocked glass jar. Shoving it in his mouth, he rejoined Sam and they made their way to the back of the yard with five dogs racing around them in frantic circles, barking happily, until realization dawned that the two men were not walking to the river where the dogs could swim. Tails still wagged hopefully as Sam gave a hard push to the door, which tended to stick.

"Well, shit." Blaine surveyed the boxes, bags, and miscellaneous bric-a-brac that were piled around the small room. "What is all this crap and why is it here?"

Sam shrugged, opening the top of the nearest cardboard box and peering inside. "This is Christmas decorations, and I can tell you without opening it that the long bag over there is the Christmas tree."

"Yes, Sam. I recognize the Christmas tree bag. And it's still sitting here at the end of March because?"

"This was a convenient place to dump it since the shed hasn't been used since mid-December? And none of us felt like climbing up a stepladder to put it in the rafters where it belongs?" Sam's eyes widened and he raised the collar of his shirt over his nose just in time to cover the explosive sneeze. "I think we need to sweep and dust in here too," he sniffled.

Blaine sighed. "Dwight owes us both a beer for this. C'mon, let's get started. I'll get the ladder."

They tackled the Christmas paraphernalia first, since it did in fact belong in the rafters right above the processing room. The artificial Christmas tree, the Rubbermaid container full of gift wrap, the Christmas tree made from crab pot wire that always sat on the porch during the holidays, all got handed up to Blaine on the stepladder so he could place them one by one through the trap door and shove them to either side of the storage space. He made sure they were still within reach of the opening though. He'd had to crawl up there before to retrieve boxes pushed too far back and he'd heard the skittering of small paws in the dark corners…an experience he'd rather not have again. When he ran out of space around that trap door he jumped down from the ladder, moved it a few feet to another trap door in the ceiling, and stepped up again to place totes full of tree ornaments and various table toppers on that side.

"Okay, I think that's all the Christmas stuff, dude." Sam wiped his hands. "Some of this stuff, I think is Stevie's. He took his whole room with him when he went back to college in January, then found out his new dorm room was even smaller than the others and brought most of it back. I think he dumped it here b/c he didn't want to carry it up the stairs to his room."

"So we get to be the lucky ones to carry it up there?"

"Dad wants this shed cleared out today, so looks like it."

"I'm adding Stevie to the list of people who owe me a beer," Blaine grumbled, but without malice. Stevie was good kid most of the time, and currently away at UNC-Wilmington, pursuing a degree in Marine Biology and waiting to find out if he'd been accepted for an aquaculture internship in Florida next semester.

"He's not old enough to buy it for us." Sam hefted a large box and stepped carefully through the doorway and down the three steps to the ground. "I say we stack all this stuff right in his doorway, so when he gets home for spring break tomorrow night, he can't even get in his room. Serve him right."

Blaine only huffed as he picked up another box marked "Stevie Evans" and followed. After setting their boxes down in Stevie's florescent green room—a color he'd chosen when he was eight and never changed—they stopped in the kitchen for water.

"Hey, you hear about Midder D?" Sam asked.

Blaine swallowed, wiping his mouth. "No, what about him?"

"Cancer, dude. He just got the diagnosis yesterday, but you know how word travels."

"Damn." Blaine absorbed that for a moment. He hadn't seen his high school chorus and drama teacher in years, but had fond memories of the man. He'd taught so long in the public school system that he was practically an institution by himself. "He's not supposed to get sick. Thought he'd live forever."

"I know. I think Mom's meeting with a few other women after she gets off work tonight, they're gonna start organizing people to take turns taking him meals once he starts treatments, checking on him every day, stuff like that."

Blaine nodded. They both knew all too well the toll that cancer could take on a family. Mr. Dodd—known as Midder D to his generations of students—had never married and had no children, so he would need community support.

"I'll talk to her tomorrow night, tell her to put me on the list to help." He took one last swallow before twisting the cap back on the bottle. "Let's get back to work."

After another hour spent on the shed, it had been cleared of misplaced storage and swept. The sinks had been scrubbed clean of the dirt accumulated over the winter and disinfected, the hanging scales given similar treatment and tested for accuracy. Blaine scribbled a note to Dwight that the supplies of plastic freezer bags needed to be replenished before any packing could be done.

A lunch break was in order before they started oystering, and they needed to give the tide a little more time to fall anyway. So they entered the house with the dogs crowding in with them, worn out from chasing each other around the yard and through the woods. While they collapsed on the cool brown tiles, panting, Blaine washed his hands in the hallway bathroom, listening to Sam inventory the refrigerator contents.

"We got sandwich stuff, leftover corned beef hash, a handful of fried shrimp, and collard greens too. Or we can cook some Ramen."

"I'll fix a sandwich, thanks," Blaine called back. "Bathroom's free, I'll be there in a sec."

He wandered down the hall to his bedroom, opening the door to peek in. It had that still feeling of a room that isn't used much. He hadn't lived here full time for years, but the family still called it his room and he stayed here occasionally, if Mary and Dwight needed someone to house-sit or for any other reason. Sam and he both spent every Christmas Eve here in the rooms they'd had as teenagers and college students, so they'd be here early on Christmas morning for the opening of presents and Mary's sausage cheese biscuit balls, which were a tradition that everyone looked forward to each year.

He entered the room, coughing a bit at the mustiness, and opened both windows to get a cross-draft, turning on the ceiling fan for good measure.

The closet was a mix of carefully labeled and organized items, and other possessions that had been tossed in however, creating a jumbled mess. But he knew just where to find the one thing he wanted. In between two textbooks that he'd kept from his college days (Norton Anthology of British Literature and Principles of Music Theory Level IV) there was a manila envelope, cracking open on the sides. He opened the flap—the metal clasp fell off years ago—and pulled out three Playbills.

 _Kinky Boots_ ….God, Billy Porter had been amazing. He'd inhabited Lola with an energy that Blaine had never seen on stage before. Blaine had left the theatre so pumped, ready to believe that anything was possible. He hadn't entered the theatre that night with high expectations for a musical written by Cyndi Lauper, but had to admit she'd killed it. He'd downloaded the entire cast album onto his laptop at the first opportunity. He'd wanted to wait at the stage door that night and get autographs from the cast, but their chaperones had nixed that idea.

He looked at the Playbill for _Once_ next. A totally different kind of show, and in a way, more of a songwriter's show. Less glitz and glamour than many Broadway musicals, but with a soulful heart at its center. For that show, he hadn't downloaded the entire album. But there had been certain songs that had caught his attention. He began humming "When Your Mind's Made Up" as he flipped over to the third Playbill.

"Blaine? Whaddaya doin'?"

He turned to Sam in the doorway of the closet, and shrugged. "Oh, just looking at souvenirs of our New York trip."

Sam stepped in to look over his shoulder. "Wow, you still have those? Mine disappeared ages ago."

Blaine snorted a laugh, putting the Playbills back in the envelope and wedging it back between the books where they'd stay flat and not get bent. "Yeah, well…I think I have more fond memories of that trip than you do."

"Truer words, dude. I look back on it like a nightmare that I woke up from when we got back to Carteret County." He clapped him on the back. "Ready for lunch?"

Blaine nodded, turning off the closet light as they exited but leaving the windows open and ceiling fan on in the bedroom. He'd close it up again before he left, but no harm in taking advantage of the mild day to air the place out a little.

In the kitchen Sam scooped corned beef hash into a bowl and set it in the microwave, while Blaine opened the low cabinet where the bread was kept. "How many fried shrimp did you say were there?"

"Maybe ten? Not enough for a meal."

"But enough to make a shrimp burger," Blaine grinned as he held up the hamburger buns.

"Aw, man!" Sam was crestfallen. He loved shrimp burgers. "Why didn't I think of that?"

"Too late. They're all mine!" He was still grinning as he put the shrimp on the bread, microwaved it, then topped it off with some cole slaw that he found in the fridge. By the time they sat down to eat at the worn round wooden table, Sam was digging into his own meal and forgot about the shrimp.

"So what you been doing this week, with no school?" he asked as he chewed.

Blaine shrugged. "Just hanging out. Thinking about lesson plans for the rest of the year. Working on some of my songs—I have a couple that I think are almost ready for us to add to our set list. Taking Merida for long runs while I have the extra time." Hearing her name, she raised her head and thumped her tail twice. Getting no further signal from Blaine, she laid her head down again. "Went on a lunch date with a cute guy."

He deliberately didn't look at Sam as he said it, but from the corner of his eye saw his cousin pause with the fork halfway to his mouth.

"What cute guy? When was this? And why am I just now hearing about him?"

Blaine grinned, deciding to keep Sam in suspense just one moment longer. "Eat that bite before you drop it in the floor and have the dogs over here fighting over that mouthful." The dogs had been trained to stay several feet away from the table while people were eating, and not beg—but anything that hit the floor was considered fair game.

Sam looked at his fork like he'd forgotten it was there, shoved the food in quickly, then pointed the fork at Blaine. "Spill."

"Well…his name's Kurt, and I met him on the beach while I was running with Merida one morning. He's here vacationing with his family for a few days."

"He's a tourist?" Sam sounded less than impressed. "So does he live in Raleigh?"

"Uh, no. He's originally from Ohio, not too far from where I lived in Ohio, actually. His parents still live there, but he lives in New York. He's a Broadway actor."

Sam gawked for a moment, then smiled a smug little smile as if he'd just figured something out. "Oh, so that explains the goofy grin on your face. _You…are…star struck_." Sam nodded knowingly and dug back into his meal. "Did you sleep with him?"

"Sam!" Blaine stared at him over his half-eaten sandwich. "I just met him yesterday!"

"Yeah, and you don't do one-night stands. I know, I know…but everyone should grab the chance to sleep with a celebrity if they get it, and he's probably your version of a celebrity." He quirked a brow. "Get his autograph, at least?"

"No, I did not ask for his autograph," Blaine said, exasperated. "I met a cute guy and asked him out, and we had a great time talking over a picnic lunch. That's all."

"Mm-hmm," Sam hummed around his mouthful. "So do I get to meet Cute Broadway Guy from New York?"

"I invited him and his parents to the oyster roast tomorrow night. You can meet him then."

Sam's fork clattered into his empty bowl and he sat back in the chair, regarding Blaine. "You invited a guy you just met to one of our family oyster roasts? You must be serious about this guy."

"I'm not allowed to invite someone?"

"Oh no, you are….but you usually don't. Not the guys you date. So I'm wondering what's different about this guy."

Blaine wiped cole slaw from his mouth with the paper towel he'd used in place of a plate and wadded it up. "You'll meet him tomorrow night. Shall we get our boots on? The tide should be low enough by now."

He caught the look Sam sent his way and knew the subject wasn't dropped, but walked away to get ready for their next chore.

After getting their boots on and starting up the four-wheeler with a small trailer hitched to the back, they rode it a short distance through the woods along a packed dirt trail which ended at North River. The dogs, ecstatic that their time had finally come, raced alongside them whole way, barking loud enough to carry over the roaring engine.

At the edge of the river, where the water would be lapping its way up the path during high tide but was now relatively dry, Blaine stood next to the short dock and took a moment to breathe in the day, while Sam opened the storage shed. The water stretched before him, barely undulating in the slight breeze. The trees on the bank—twisted and bent from the combined forces of salt water and wind—were just starting to look a little greener again after a winter of dull brown. Over to his left, Highway 70 cut across the river aided by a low bridge.

This early in the season, the sun was just warming up, but Blaine knew that by mid-summer it would be brutally hot. By July the sunlight seemed to have a smell all its own, added to the stench of the mud and marsh grass. Summer could be miserable with its heat and humidity, and the bugs that were impossible to avoid around this much salt water. But it could also be fun, if you enjoyed being outside and in the water. Right now the temperature was ideal and the blood-sucking mosquitoes hadn't taken over yet. Right now, living here was just about perfect. Could he ever leave this?

"Hey cuz…stop daydreaming and come get your stuff." Sam was holding a pair of oyster tongs out to him.

He shook off his contemplative mood and also took a bushel basket, and culling iron from Sam. Together they walked out toward the oyster rocks, which were exposed to the sun with the tide ebbed out. The mud sucked under their boots and they watched where they placed their feet, not wanting to trip over any of the shells exposed through the mud. Sam stopped while still in public bottom to pick up a cluster of medium oysters, eyeing it carefully before he struck it at a junction point with the metal rod and the cluster fell apart in his hand. He bent to toss the oysters into the basket, leaving the empty shells that had fallen back in the mud.

Blaine meanwhile had crossed the boundary line into the Evans lease and stopped at one of the many tires that were placed inside, sliding a thick glove on before reaching down into the water—almost knee deep here—to carefully lift one side of the tire, giving him a chance to survey the various shellfish that had attached themselves to the rubber.

"Hey Sam, this one has a bunch on it. Bring the basket over here!" he called, and started to pry the delicacies from the tire.

Sam arrived and dropped his basket, causing a small splash. He gripped the tire in gloved hands, raising it higher and allowing Blaine to use his hands to pry oysters loose.

"Something I don't get," Sam said conversationally after a moment of relative quiet, just the dogs splashing and the whoosh of the cars on the bridge.

"Hmm?"

"Well, you've never been one for one- night stands or casual hook-ups, so what do you think will come of dating a guy who's only here for a few days before he goes back to the miserable north?"

Blaine broke off one cluster before taking a closer look and realizing it was just shells and tiny spats too small to catch legally. He tossed the lot back in the water. "Who says it's miserable?"

"Dude, it was freezing up there even in November. I don't even wanna know what it's like in February. And you didn't answer my question."

Blaine smiled, eyes focused on separating two clusters that had become intertwined. "Just because I went on one date with the guy doesn't mean we're _dating_ , like we're a long-term thing. He's gorgeous, I had fun talking to him when we met on the beach, I wanted to talk to him some more. That's all." He tossed the clusters in the basket, empty shells and all. They could cull them later. "Turn it a little?" he asked.

Sam obliged, adjusting his grip so Blaine could get to a new section of the tire. "Why were you looking at those old Playbills?" he asked.

Blaine shrugged his shoulders in his beat-up shirt, chosen for the dirty tasks he was doing today. "Talking to Kurt made me remember going to New York and seeing Broadway shows."

"You were going to go there once," Sam said. It sounded like a challenge. "Be a big Broadway star and all that."

"No, no. I was never aiming for Broadway." Blaine tossed a few more oysters in the basket and started to raise a gloved hand to scratch his forehead, catching himself in time. He pulled off the muddy glove and carefully scratched with his relatively clean nails.

"But you were aiming for New York."

"Yes, Sam. I was. And I know you didn't agree with it, but I ended up not going so it's rather a moot point to argue whether it would have been the best choice for me." Blaine crammed his hand back in the glove too quickly, getting two digits caught in one finger space, forcing him to try again before he could resume his hunt for tomorrow night's dinner.

"Look, dude…I know you stayed here because my mom got sick, and that was a solid thing for you to do. But I always wondered if you weren't going to leave again as soon she went in remission. And I've wondered ever since." Blaine's fingers slowed in their work and he risked a glance up at Sam's earnest face. "Do you regret staying here?"

He shook his head, gripping Sam's bicep in one wet glove. "Never. Your parents gave me a home when I really needed that consistency and support, and you guys are my family."

"Then why do you still have New York posters in your room since you were eighteen? And I catch you looking at old Playbills when you think I won't see?" Sam sounded hurt, almost as if he'd been kept out of a secret in Blaine's life.

He sighed, dropping his hand. Merida splashed up next to him and he stroked her without taking his eyes off Sam. "I guess…it's not that I regret staying here to help out when Mary needed all of us, and it's not that I regret becoming a music teacher. I just….wonder how my life might have turned out different if I had gone to New York when I was eighteen, y'know?"

Sam snorted. "And I wonder how my life would have been different if I'd gotten that football scholarship to State, and maybe even gone on to the pros, but that was a pipe dream and I'm still here."

"And I'm still here." Blaine shooed his dog away and bent to swish his glove through the water, removing any dog hair that might have stuck. "And we're having a roast tomorrow and these oysters aren't going to jump into the basket of their own volition."

"Here, you hold for a while and I'll get the oysters off. You always miss half of them anyway."

"Do not!" Blaine retorted, but took a firm grip on the tire Sam passed him, hoping that the discussion was closed.

They worked for another hour and a half, finding oysters on three more tires, plus clusters in the mud. They went back to the shore at one point, to drop their full basket in the shade next to the four-wheeler and get another bushel basket from the shed. The work was largely monotonous, and they'd perfected this routine over the years, now needing little conversation about what they were actually doing. Instead they talked about their family, about Stevie and Stacy and their big plans, about Sam's girlfriend Penny, and what the two of them might do this upcoming summer when they had several weeks off from their teaching jobs. Sam had to go back sooner than Blaine to coach the football camp, but he usually roped Blaine into assisting with that so they always ended up going back to work at the same time regardless. They usually took turns helping Dwight on his boat over the summer, and took time to just be out on the water for fun. The family's small skiff hadn't been used much since the previous summer, so they agreed to set aside time next weekend to work on it. If the weather were agreeable, they could take the skiff upriver to their camp in the woods to see how it had fared the winter.

Sam tossed a final cluster on top of the basket, which tumbled down the mounded-up pile of shellfish and plopped back in the water. "That's it, dude. When you can't fit any more in the basket, it's time to go."

"Sounds good to me." Blaine arched his back, trying to reverse the tension caused by lifting heavy loads and bending down so much over the past two hours. It would be good to get inside again, where it was cool, and re-hydrate. Even in March, the sun was strong enough that his skin felt warm after a couple hours' exposure. Sam stretched his arms skyward, audible popping noises accompanying the motion. Without further discussion, they each took one basket handle and carried the heavy load between them to shore. All five dogs lay in the shade, happy as only muddy exhausted dogs can be. They watched in interest as the two men gave one final lift to get the basket up on the trailer, followed by the first basket they'd collected. They secured them with bungee cords and were finally able to sit down, mounting the four-wheeler to ride to back to the house and set the oysters in the cool area under the house till tomorrow evening.

They were standing on the low dock at the bottom of the stairs, hosing the mud off their feet and lower legs when a small white pickup pulled into the yard. Sam's younger sister Stacy got out, pulling her backpack with her.

"Hey, Blaine! Did you pick up the mail?" she called as she slammed the door.

"Hello to you too, Little Sis," Sam retorted before Blaine could answer her question.

Stacy gave her brother a long-suffering look. "I'm interested in today's mail, and I _know_ you didn't pick it up, you never do." She tossed her long blonde hair back over her shoulder. "Did you get it, Blaine?"

"Yeah, Stace, but there was nothing for you, sorry." Her shoulders slumped. "You're gonna get in, don't worry."

"But other people that I auditioned with have already gotten their letters…why haven't I gotten mine?" she implored him, as if he had the answers.

"C'mere, I'll tell you a secret." Blaine crooked a finger at her, passing the hose back to Sam. She walked carefully around the puddles created by their outside shower and leaned close to Blaine without touching him. He aimed a whisper at her ear. "They're saving the best for last." He drew back long enough to see her grateful smile, then smeared mud down her cheek, causing an ear-splitting screech from her and a belly laugh from Sam.

"You suck, Blaine Anderson! See if I invite you to my opening night!" She swiped a hand down her face to collect the dark river mud and tried to flick it away, but most of it just stuck.

Blaine straightened from his bent-double pose, finally reining in his laughter. "Just use the hose, Stace." He took it from Sam and passed it to her with the water flow pointing away from her, so she could hold her hand under the spray. "There, good as new," he pronounced when her hand was clean. "Now relax—you're gonna get in." He glanced over his shoulder, to Sam climbing the stairs as he called dibs on the shower. "You're gonna get in to everywhere you auditioned, and you'll have your choice of where to go. I just know it."

She heaved a giant sigh. "I don't know if it would be better or worse, to be accepted everywhere I applied. If I do, then I have to decide. I don't know if I can."

Blaine turned the water off and coiled the hose back on its holder before turning back to her. "I think that when you get that acceptance letter from the school you want most, you'll just know. You'll open that letter and there will be no question in your mind, and all that will be left to do is pack."

"And tell my parents," she reminded him, twisting her hair over her shoulder. She used to chew the ends of her pigtails when she was little, till the hair twisting finally replaced that habit.

He reached out, intending to pat her on the shoulder in reassurance, before seeing the look she gave him as she side-stepped and realizing he was still wet and more than a little dirty, despite the cursory wash with the hose. He dropped his hand, and tried to convey confidence with his tone. "You can cross that bridge when you come to it, but they're going to be happy for you, I know it. Probably surprised at first, but they'll support your decision."

"Your dad didn't," she reminded him. He flinched, turning away to pick up his boots and hang them upside down from the stair railing to dry. "Sorry," she offered, realizing she'd hit a sore spot. He hated that after all these years, it still hurt to think of it.

"Nothing but the truth," he said, turning back to her. "My dad didn't support me when I told him what I wanted to do with my life, but your parents aren't my dad. I doubt he ever would have been happy with me doing anything but the military, but I wasn't cut out for that. I think your parents are more open-minded, Stace. They'll support you, and so will Sam and Stevie, and so will I. Okay?"

She nodded, finally smiling a little. "Okay."

"Alright, I'm gonna go. Let Sam know that I went home to clean up, hmm?"

She waved good-bye as he whistled for Merida and started toward his truck. He opened the passenger door so she could jump up onto the seat draped with old towels to guard against her muddy fur, then went around to get in the driver's seat, also protected with old towels since he wasn't much less dirty than his dog. He turned the key and reached into the storage area between the seats for his phone, hoping for a message from Kurt. Instead he had a voice mail, but not from Kurt.

 _Hey Blaine, this is Mike from the Dock House. The music act we had booked for tonight just canceled on us, and we were hoping you and Sam could fill in? I understand it's last minute, but we're calling all our local artists hoping to find someone who's available. Call me back if ya'll can do it. Thanks!_

Hmm…he didn't know about Sam, but he had no plans for tonight other than vegging in front of the TV. Making music for the evening suddenly sounded great, and maybe he could even invite a special guest to come listen….that sounded even better. He got out of the car, leaving his door open for Merida to cross the seats and jump out after him, and went back in the house to pitch the idea to his cousin.

* * *

 **A/N: I keep getting ideas for more scenes which I really do think will make this fic better, but that also means that the chapters aren't falling in place exactly as I first imagined. So this one took a little longer to get out, my apologies for that. Many thanks to everyone who's followed this story or left comments here, liked and reblogged on Tumblr, or commented and left kudos on AO3. I hope you'll stick around for the rest of the chapters!**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Thanks to neyronrose for proofreading this chapter.**

 **Once again, we're backtracking a bit in the timeline. We're picking up where we left off with Kurt at the end of chapter three.**

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Kurt hesitated at the closed door of the bedroom his Dad and Carole were using during their stay. He didn't want to disturb Carole's rest. She'd looked exhausted when she excused herself to go lie down, wrung out by the emotional turbulence of the day. It was always that way, every year, which was one of the reasons Kurt made it a point to be home for the occasion if he could. His dad was an amazing support for Carole, but Kurt liked to think his presence helped as well, a way to remind Carole that she had one son left who loved her and would be there for her in times of need.

He raised a hand finally, and made a single light rap on the door. It took a long moment before his dad opened it, and beyond his shoulder Kurt could see Carole in bed, curled up with her back to him.

Burt stepped through the door and closed it quietly behind himself. "Yeah, Kurt?" He looked tired as well, and Kurt was struck again by the realization that his dad wasn't exactly young anymore.

"How's Carole?" he asked first.

"Worn out. Sad. I think she's probably down for the night, unless I can convince her to get up long enough to eat something but I doubt it."

Kurt nodded. "Even if she won't get up to eat, make sure she drinks plenty of water," he advised, feeling dumb even as he said it. His dad hardly needed his input on how to comfort his wife.

Hazel eyes narrowed shrewdly. "You didn't knock on the door just to tell me to give her a glass of water, Kurt. What's up?"

"If you think you're both in for the night, and don't need me around, would you mind if I went out?" He received a quirked brow in response. "I got a text from Blaine, inviting me to come hear him and his cousin play music."

His dad nodded. "Figured it had something to do with that guy you met."

"Well there aren't many people here who would contact me and invite me out. I don't know anyone else," Kurt pointed out with a smile.

"Sure, go ahead."

"You're sure? I don't want Carole to feel like I just waltzed out to go partying when she's having a bad day."

"Nah, you go on. I think she'll likely just go to sleep anyway, and there's no need in all three of us sitting around moping."

"Thanks, Dad." He stepped forward on impulse to give him a hug. "Take care of yourself too, and just call me if you need me to come back, for any reason."

"I will. You go have fun. Keys to my truck are in my jacket pocket, hanging by the door." Kurt nodded and turned to walk away. "Hey Kurt?"

"Yeah Dad?" He turned back to see his dad tug on the brim of his cap and shift his weight before he spoke.

"Text me if you plan to be out all night."

"Dad…" He sighed. Sometimes he felt his dad had the worst possible impression of Kurt's dating life in New York, as if he staggered home drunk with a different guy every night to have impersonal, unprotected sex. They'd had more than one conversation about it over the years, but Kurt didn't want to get into all that right now. So he settled for, "I'm a little old for a curfew, don't you think?"

"I'm not telling you what time you have to be home." Burt Hummel spread his hands in a complacent gesture. "I'm just saying, send me a text so I know you're safely in for the night. I don't want to wake up tomorrow morning to your bed still empty and wondering if you got hit by a drunk driver."

"You realize, when I'm in New York for months at a time without us seeing each other, that you have no idea when I come and go."

"Yeah, and I worry then too. Part of being a parent." He shoved his hands in his pockets. "Humor your old man and send him a text, hmm?"

"Okay, Dad." Kurt gave in for the sake of getting changed and on his way. "Tell Carole I said goodnight." He caught the older man's satisfied nod as he turned away again.

He heard the click of his parents' door as he continued down the hallway to his own room, almost wanting to be annoyed but instead, feeling the warm glow of knowing that even at his age, his dad still worried about him. Part of being a parent, he'd said….and he wondered suddenly if Blaine had ever thought about having kids. Probably. He was an elementary school teacher, so he must like kids.

Whoa. Where had that thought come from? He'd known the guy all of a day. Little early to be picking out china patterns…and even more presumptuous to be picturing what their children would look like. Though he couldn't deny that Blaine's children would be adorable, especially if they inherited those curls of his.

He shook himself mentally as he walked into his room, which was decorated in hues of blue and with seashells accenting the border of the large mirror on the dresser. He'd opened the windows this afternoon and the ocean breeze lifted the gauzy white curtains, making them billow inward.

He opened the small closet where he'd hung up his clothes the evening he arrived. He'd done precious little else that evening, other than have dinner with his parents and then fall asleep embarrassingly early in front of the TV, but he'd taken the time to hang up his clothes. He flicked through the few outfits he'd brought, his mind meandering again, wondering if his dad wanted grandkids.

Well. Yeah. Kurt knew he did, though his dad hadn't mentioned it often. He knew his dad always tried to stay a step back and not influence the big decisions Kurt made for his life, unless asked for advice. But he would never forget that, upon hearing that his cancer was in remission, one of the first things Burt Hummel had declared he was looking forward to in his later years was grandbabies.

Kurt sighed, mentally chiding himself as he pulled his chosen outfit off the rack. He didn't know why he was mulling on this all of a sudden. He'd always kinda thought he would have kids one day, when he was old enough, and had met the right guy, but now was hardly the time to be contemplating big decisions about his hypothetical future.

He laid the clothes out on the bed as his phone beeped. Smiling as he anticipated another text from Blaine, Kurt pulled his phone out and groaned when he instead saw it was from Rachel.

 _Video chat, need to talk._

He typed a reply, one eye flicking over his clothes and wondering if the boots might not go better with it than his shoes.

 _Can't. Getting ready to go out._

He hit Send and mentally kicked himself as soon as his finger left the screen. Dumb, dumber and dumbest. His phone beeped four times in quick succession.

 _OMG!_

 _You're going out with that guy!_

 _Video._

 _Now Kurt!_

Kurt sighed, knowing from long acquaintance with Rachel Berry that it was better to go ahead and get on video as she demanded. If he tried to put her off she'd just call him all night. He briefly considered just turning his phone off, but dismissed that idea. He wanted his Dad to be able to reach him.

He set his iPad on the dresser and opened the video calling app, pulling off his shirt while he waited for it to boot up. Immediately a notification popped up that he had an incoming call from Rachel.

"Tell me all about him," she demanded without preamble, leaning into the camera as if she could threaten him from halfway across the country.

"Hello to you too, Rachel. And how are you?"

Kurt hated to admit it, since it was causing him a headache at the moment, but Carole had been right about providing Rachel with a distraction. He knew there had been some years when Rachel spent the entire anniversary of Finn's death crying inconsolably, all day and into the night. It was the reason why she never worked that day. Any contract she signed for a new show included the provision that her understudy would perform on this specific date each year. It was both a good and bad thing, in Kurt's opinion. It gave Rachel the entire day to mourn as she needed without having to worry about going on stage that night, but on the other hand, she might not wallow for so long if she knew she had to perform. He personally thought it would be a good distraction for her….though maybe not this year. Given the plot of _If/Then_ , he couldn't imagine that today would be a good day for Rachel to play her character's arc. Though who knows….it might have been cathartic.

"Kurt! I asked you a question!"

He turned back to the screen, shucking off his jeans as he glared at her. But the glare was all an act. He'd be Rachel's distraction for the evening if it would help her.

"What do you want to know?" He hopped on one leg as he pulled the tight jeans off, uncaring that Rachel could see him. They'd been roommates for their first few years in NYC, sharing an apartment without bedroom walls and a cramped bathroom. Wouldn't matter if he stripped down naked, it wouldn't be anything Rachel hadn't seen before.

"Everything," she repeated.

"Well, I don't have much to tell yet. Just met him yesterday." He pulled the shirt off the hanger and shrugged it on. "His name is Blaine, he's cute, he's an elementary school music teacher, he has a big sloppy dog and he looks really good with his shirt off on the beach."

"And you like him, otherwise you wouldn't be bothering with a guy from some small Southern town." She sounded very sure of herself. "So are you going to try a long-distance relationship?"

"Rachel." He tried to sound stern as he fastened buttons. "I'll tell you again, I just met the guy yesterday. There is no relationship to make long-distance." He reached for his jeans.

"But Carole said you've already been out once," she pounced again, undeterred. "And you're going out with him again tonight. Oh, don't wear those jeans, Kurt," she scolded like a mother instructing her child not to wear shorts on a cold day. "Wear the white ones with the design on the back pockets, they make your ass look fantastic and the design really draws attention, right where you want this Blaine guy to look."

He turned back to the iPad as he zipped up, then planted his hands on his hips. "I know perfectly well which jeans make my ass look good, Rachel. I'm hardly accepting fashion advice from you. I'm wearing black because Blaine mentioned the seating was outdoors. I don't want to wear white jeans in case the chairs are dirty."

"Outdoor seating….some cute little restaurant on the water? I looked on a map to see where you are, looks like you're practically in the ocean."

"It's someplace where Blaine and his cousin are playing a music set, that's all I know. He said they'd be playing outside on the deck." He checked his hair in the mirror, leaning over the iPad on the dresser.

"So he's a musician." Her voice came from the vicinity of his stomach.

"Yes, Rachel. I said he was a music teacher." A little styling with his fingers and he sprayed it with enough Ultra-Hold to combat even the stiffest ocean breeze. Picking up the scarf he'd chosen, he sat at the dresser to be on eye level with Rachel as he knotted it around his neck. "I need to go in just a moment so I don't miss their first song. But before I go, I want to talk about something other than my hypothetical love life."

"Not so hypothetical, if you're going out on a second date with the guy in as many days and you picked out your current-favorite scarf for him."

"Rachel."

"Fine," she huffed. "What else did you want to talk about?"

"Can you get me the contact info for our wardrobe head on the show? And do you remember who the costume designer was on the last show we did together?"

Her attention sharpened. "Why would you need to know that, Kurt?"

"I might be considering a teensy-weensy career change. Just get me the information, please?" He needed to make a quick escape now.

"But Kurt, why would you-"

"Rachel, I need to go or I'll be late for my date. You wouldn't want that, would you?" His finger hovered over the End Call button.

"Of course not, but-"

"Don't make me hang up on you for the second time today," he interrupted her again. "Just get me the info, please? And I'll talk to you again tomorrow."

"Promise you'll tell me all about your date?" she said in a rush, clearly unwilling to let him go without some sort of promise that they'd continue later.

"I promise. Tomorrow. Goodnight, Rachel." He ended the call, and checked his hair one last time in the mirror. Closing the iPad, he picked up a jacket and strode through the door, hitting the light switch on his way out.

"Damn," Kurt muttered under his breath as he realized he'd missed his turn. Blaine had said to turn right on Craven Street and the Dockhouse Restaurant would be at the end of Craven, on the water side of Front Street. But a large delivery truck had blocked him from switching lanes, so Kurt went one more block and turned on Queen Street instead. He crossed one street, two, three….and he'd hit the dead end Blaine warned about. He could go straight no longer, unless he wanted to go in the water. He turned right instead and rolled slowly down Front Street.

As he came into what seemed to be the main business district—though not much of one by his New York City standards—people crossed the street in front of him, paying no mind to his oncoming car and apparently not caring whether they were in a designated crosswalk or not. Just another way in which things were different here, he reminded himself, trying not be impatient. Blaine said their set would start at 6:00 and Kurt didn't want to be late. He also had no idea how crowded it might be, if he'd have trouble getting a seat close to the musicians. But it was unlikely to make a good impression on the cute local guy if Kurt ran over pedestrians on his way to hear him play. The pedestrians meandered out of the road, at last, and Kurt rolled forward again.

Craven Street. There was the street sign on the right. So that large building on the left must be the Dockhouse Restaurant. But he didn't see any parking, so he kept going, hoping to find a space.

This main drag seemed to be all restaurants and gift shops. He saw a General Store (Those still existed? He thought it was just in old movie westerns) with signs proudly announcing that they had Dip Ice Cream and Maytag Laundry. Huh. On his left he could see the tall masts and sails of boats, despite the near-darkness. The boats seemed to be pulled up almost onto the grass, abutting the stores and restaurants on that side. He drove on, past The Rocking Chair Bookstore and The Fudge Factory. Old-timey street lamps every twenty yards or so kept the street well illuminated. "How quaint," Kurt muttered under his breath.

He didn't mean it as a bad thing. Well, not entirely. It _was_ quaint in a bygone-era sort of way, and during the daytime he'd probably be tempted to pull out his phone and take a few pictures. But he couldn't imagine being in a place like this for more than a few days. What in the world did people do here? How did they not die of boredom?

He reached the end of the road, circled around a tiny cul-de-sac barely big enough for his dad's truck to pivot around, and drove back the way he'd come. So that was it, then. He'd seen all of Front Street, Beaufort.

Two more blocks back and he lucked out, seeing someone else pull out of their parking space. He pulled in quickly, grabbed his jacket against the evening chill and strode up the sidewalk.

After less than a block (and not even a city block either, he'd noticed while driving that it would take two blocks here to make up one short Manhattan block), he got stuck behind a large family who not only had spread themselves out across the entire narrow sidewalk but were moving at a pace that would make a snail look speedy. When they stopped entirely to point at something in the dark across the water, he circled around them, wondering how it was even possible for anyone to move that slowly. Didn't they have anywhere to be?

Well, probably not, he answered his own hypothetical question. When there was precious little to do, then there was precious little reason to hurry.

When he saw a boardwalk he walked that way, finding himself closer to the boats docked adjacent, till he saw the sign confirming that he had indeed found the Dockhouse Restaurant. They'd be on the outside deck, Blaine had said. Next to the water. He smiled when he saw the already-recognizable round bottom in tight jeans as Blaine bent over to check the cords plugged into a speaker. Kurt stepped up the single step that separated the deck from the boardwalk and approached.

"Glad to see I didn't miss your opening number," he said, loudly enough to carry over the chatter of patrons. Blaine turned, a smile splitting his face.

"Hey! Glad you made it!" He seemed almost as if he wanted to reach out, whether to hug or shake hands Kurt wasn't sure, but instead Blaine gestured in a grand sweep around him. "Welcome to Beaufort waterfront and The Dockhouse. Here, lemme introduce you. Hey, Sam!"

At the call, a tall blond man turned from where he'd been engaged in conversation with a couple seated at a table. He nodded a good-bye to them before stepping over to hold a hand out to Kurt.

"Sam Evans. Welcome to Beaufort, I hear you're visiting from up north." His accent was….unlike anything Kurt had heard before, though he felt maybe he'd heard something close. A Southern accent, yes, but somehow thicker and broader than Kurt was used to hearing. It wasn't the Southern accent that he'd been taught in dialect classes, that was for sure. He returned the shake automatically.

"Nice to meet you, I'm Kurt Hummel. And yes, I'm from New York."

"And what do you think of North Carolina so far?" His green eyes assessed Kurt frankly, in a quick sweep from head to toe, and Kurt suddenly realized how he was dressed compared to everyone else's casual attire. His ensemble wouldn't have drawn a second glance in New York, but here, amongst what was clearly a beach-casual dress code….he did stand out a bit. It had been a long time since Kurt felt like his clothes put him in this bright of a spotlight. He had a feeling he was being evaluated by Sam. What had Blaine told his cousin about him?

"You have much nicer weather here," Kurt said honestly. "Aside from that, I haven't seen a whole lot. Just arrived a couple days ago, met Blaine here yesterday."

"Oh yeah, he told me. He's been moony over you all day," Sam grinned, and side-stepped an arm punch from Blaine like he'd expected it.

"I wasn't moony, Sam." Blaine managed to jab him in the ribs, his face flushing.

"Watch it, cuz!" Sam rubbed his ribs. "I can't sing if I can't breathe because of a punctured lung."

"Ignore him," Blaine muttered. "I don't know why I called you over to introduce you," he said pointedly to Sam. "Give me a moment to show Kurt to his table and we'll start, hmm?"

"My table?"

"Of course. This way, sir." Blaine affected a formal bow and stepped a few feet away to a small two-seater table, just far enough away from the bandstand that the music wouldn't be blaringly loud, but with a clear line of sight to the musicians. A small sign on the table said "Reserved for Kurt."

"Thank you," he said as Blaine pulled a chair out for him, then held his breath when Blaine bent down to whisper in his ear.

"The food here's just so-so, my aunt really cooks seafood better. But don't tell the owner I said so, he's good to me and Sam. If you want alcohol, their signature drink here is the Shipwreck and I highly recommend it." Kurt nodded, trying not to obviously shiver at Blaine being so close. "I asked the waitress for this section to get you anything you want and put it on my bill," Blaine said before walking away.

Kurt's protest that Blaine didn't need to buy him dinner faded, as the other man strode away quickly enough to make it clear he wasn't going to listen to any such protest.

Blaine went back to his cousin and they both picked up guitars. They seemed to be discussing how to start, so Kurt took the opportunity to look around. His seat faced the water, which he couldn't see much of but the outlines of boats looming in the edges of the light made it obvious there was water there. If he focused carefully to listen past the babble of patrons around him, he could hear waves lapping against the hulls. A gentle breeze drifted through the open seating area, making him glad he'd brought a jacket. He hadn't put it on yet, but thought he probably would before the evening was over.

"Good evening sir, and welcome to the Crystal Coast and the Dockhouse Restaurant." A waitress stood in front of him. She looked like a high school student, though she must be at least eighteen to serve at a place serving alcohol. "I'm Wendy and I'll be taking care of you this evening. May I bring you something to drink?"

"Oh." He tried to focus on her and smile. Behind her he could see Blaine and Sam sitting down in front of mikes, so he wanted her to leave quickly. "I haven't had time to look at your menu, but I was told to order something called a Shipwreck? And a glass of water as well, please." He smiled at her.

"Certainly, sir. And let me know if I can answer any question about the menu for you." Her ponytail swished as she turned away.

He skimmed the menu as the microphones gave the distinctive whine of a sound system being turned on, and in the salads section saw one that was topped with boiled shrimp and crabmeat. Hmm. That sounded different. He decided that was a good enough choice as Sam spoke up, and he turned his full attention to the two men on the low podium.

"Hey, everyone, how we doin' tonight?" he asked in that accent of his. Kurt wondered why Blaine didn't have it, as a scattered chorus of answers came from all sides. "If you're not doing good now, you will be after some good food, good beer, and good music. I'm Sam Evans, this is Blaine Anderson…." He looked at the man on his right, signaling him to take over.

"And together we're the Carolina Cousins," Blaine finished. "We have a pretty laid-back set for you tonight, acoustic versions of some 70s soft rock, and country hits, and a few originals. We might even mix in a couple other genres just for variety," he said, looking directly at Kurt and winking. "We'll get started with some James Taylor, so sit back and enjoy."

He looked down at his guitar as he picked out the first notes, which sounded clearly through the speakers and were quickly joined by Sam's guitar. It sounded familiar to Kurt, like something he'd definitely heard before, but he couldn't recall the title till they started singing and he recognized "Carolina in My Mind." The two of them harmonized effortlessly, their voices blending so well that Kurt was hard put to separate Blaine's. He really wanted to hear Blaine sing alone. He got his wish a moment later when the two men took turns singing lines solo. Sam had a good voice, sounding natural and not overly trained, but appropriate for this setting.

Blaine's voice was something else, something that made Kurt lean closer over his table and watch the man's mouth move, something that kept him from looking away. It wasn't that his voice was that much stronger or more formally trained than his cousin's, but there was an authenticity to the way he interpreted the words, like he'd burrowed under the lyrics and found a deeper meaning to this random collection of words strung together….

"Sir? I have your drink."

Kurt looked up, startled, at his waitress. "Right, thank you," he said automatically as she set some sort of mixed beverage and a glass of water in front of him. He looked back to the performers who were harmonizing again.

"Are you ready to order your meal?"

He opened his menu without looking away from Blaine, who was sending him glances every few seconds, while also trying to play to other audience members. Kurt looked down just long enough to find the menu item he'd selected, and pointed to it, turning the menu toward the waitress. "This one, please."

"Yes sir."

He couldn't be sure, but he thought he caught a smirk from her as she turned away. He didn't care. He pushed his drink out of the way so he'd have room for his elbows on the table, and with his chin propped up on his hands, continued to enjoy the music and the view.

For the next three hours he listened and tapped his foot along to a song list that was just as the cousins—the Carolina Cousins, Kurt reminded himself—had advertised. They seemed to do quite a bit of 70s rock from groups like the Eagles and Crosby, Stills & Nash. Kurt couldn't help bobbing his head along enthusiastically when they finished their first set with "Dancing in the Moonlight" by King Harvest, with Blaine providing the lively piano part from a keyboard that was behind him and Kurt hadn't even noticed before. He could play guitar, piano, _and_ sing…a man after Kurt's own heart.

The musicians called a break after that and Blaine came over to say hello to Kurt, ask if he was enjoying the music, but didn't stay, saying he needed to use the break for the bathroom and to re-hydrate.

They picked up their guitars again after ten minutes and continued to play. By just after 9:00, Kurt had long since finished his meal and been firmly put off when he tried to pay for it. He'd slipped the waitress a large tip anyway, whispering that it was only fair since he'd taken up her table all night. Patrons around him had come and gone, some lingering for a while after they finished their meal to listen, but he was the only one who'd sat there through every song.

It was nearly 9:30 and there were only three tables occupied aside from Kurt's. He'd put his jacket on against the breeze coming off the water and was leaning sideways in his chair, cheek supported by one hand and staring in a half-focused way toward Blaine as he let the music wash over him, unable to recall the last time he'd sat down and just enjoyed live music for this long. He was usually the one on stage providing the music, and he'd forgotten the simple joy of being in the audience.

"Well, folks, looks like people are heading home for the night and we'll be heading out soon ourselves," Blaine said into the mike. Sam was taking off his guitar. "But before we go, I wonder if a special guest might want to come up here and duet with me on something a little different."

Kurt blinked as he realized Blaine was looking directly at him. "Me?" he mouthed, wondering if he'd fallen asleep listening to the music and was dreaming this. But Blaine nodded, gesturing to the seat next to him that had just been vacated. Kurt flicked his eyes to Sam, who still stood next to his chair and was staring at his cousin in a way that made Kurt think this wasn't part of their normal routine.

"What do you say, Kurt? Want to bring a little Broadway to Beaufort, even if it's just for five minutes?" He raised his generous eyebrows at him in challenge.

All the objections that immediately sprang to mind— _OMG are you crazy, you can't just spring this on me without warning, you didn't even say which song you want to sing, my voice isn't warmed up, and did I ask if you're crazy?_ —got pushed aside as Blaine grinned at him and with a jerk of his head, invited him over.

Kurt got up and walked over to join the crazy local who'd somehow made this seem like a good idea, and sat on the edge of the empty chair, trying to hum under his breath to warm up his vocal cords just a little. He'd been drinking ice water, for God's sake. Blaine could have given him a little warning. The guy in question leaned over, and it was the perfect opportunity to strangle him for putting Kurt on the spot like this.

"So I'm guessing you know all the songs in your current show? Even the ones you don't sing yourself?" Blaine whispered to him, putting a hand over the mike.

"Yeah…which one did you have in mind?"

Blaine only grinned in response. "Do you mind singing the girl's part? You said you're a countertenor, right?"

"I make my living singing girls' parts," Kurt said with a deliberate haughtiness. It was true, to an extent. There had been times he'd sung alto or even second soprano, if that was where his voice was needed to achieve the vocal balance the music director wanted. And even in the accepting Broadway community, he'd encountered men who would laugh behind his back at a man singing the women's vocal part. But he'd long ago decided the hell with them, and chose to take pride in his extraordinary vocal range.

"Good," Blaine smiled. Far from laughing, he looked like Kurt had given him just the answer he wanted. "Just drop the first verse, and switch the pronouns a little, I think it'll work." With that, Blaine dropped his hand from the mike and started strumming his guitar.

"Wait-" Kurt tried to hiss it but cut himself off, conscious of their audience. It only took seconds to recognize the song from its introduction, but all he could think was, _really? You want to sing that song_ here _?_ Unfortunately that song didn't have a long instrumental section before the vocal started and he missed his cue. _Calm down_ , he told himself. _It's just a song and there aren't that many people left anyway._

He took a breath, met Blaine's eyes and nodded that he was ready, and the second time the song began he opened his mouth to sing.

 _Somewhere there's a world where from the first we never met_

 _We never spoke, or kissed_

 _We don't know what we missed_

 _Or don't know yet._

Kurt sang almost on automatic, because he really did know every song in the show, it was hard not to when you'd rehearsed a show for months and then performed it eight times a week for months longer. While singing the lines, he was actually thinking about that first verse Blaine had advised he drop, the lyrics of which clearly indicated it was meant to be sung by a woman and man and couldn't be altered simply by changing pronouns. But it was the lines _we have a child, or three, and it's just fine by me_ , that were stuck in his head now even as he sang different words. It was almost like Blaine knew what he'd been thinking about earlier in the evening, and chose this song deliberately—no, that was impossible.

He finished his verse and never took his gaze off the man across from him, as Blaine picked up the next section and sang of missed chances.

 _Somewhere there's a me who never loved that other you_

 _Who liked you fine, I guess as buddies, more or less_

 _And that would do_

Kurt was vaguely aware of someone moving behind them, Sam he thought. The blond stepped into his peripheral vision and Kurt realized he was packing away his guitar and their equipment, and registered it as a slightly rude thing to do when he and Blaine were still performing. He re-focused on his singing partner in time to hear his next lines.

 _And you and I are strangers,_

 _Or we're lovers, or we're not_

 _The other me's live with what they've got_

How apropos, Kurt thought even as he sang his next line. They had been strangers, a mere two days ago. As for lovers….was Blaine trying to tell him something? Kurt certainly was on board with that idea, and smiled a bit as together they sang what he considered to be the most bittersweet lyrics of the song.

 _Now we're old enough to know that_

 _One road ends where one begins_

 _The moment when the what-might-be's turn into might-have-beens_

Might-have-beens….he'd spent most the day contemplating the might-have-beens. He'd known since he was eight and lost his mom that life can be snatched away without notice, and he'd spent today contemplating another loss. He'd long ago decided that it didn't pay off to wait for the perfect opportunity. Better to take the good-enough opportunity before it was gone.

And Blaine, he decided as he sang the last line and the guitar's notes faded away, was more than good enough. Their eye contact held till there was a smattering of polite applause from the few remaining customers, and their moment was over. Blaine grinned, the smile taking over his entire face as he stood and held his hand out for Kurt, both of them facing the customers to bow.

"Thank you to my special guest, Kurt Hummel," Blaine said into the microphone. "And thanks for coming out to hear music tonight, my cousin and I appreciate your attention."

Kurt remembered that Sam was somewhere behind them, and stepped aside, gesturing the other man to come forward as he realized that he was hogging the final bow that was rightfully Sam's. He gave a short nod to Kurt as he stepped forward to bow with Blaine and spoke to the audience.

"Remember, we're the Carolina Cousins and you can find us at various live music venues around Carteret County, especially over the summer. Follow us on Facebook to find out where you can hear us next!"

"Goodnight, everyone!" Blaine called, Sam already turning away to turn off the speakers and start putting equipment away. Blaine took his guitar off and stepped carefully over the mike wires to stand in front of Kurt, still flushed with performance adrenaline. His hair was coming loose just the slightly bit from his gel hold, curling at his temples. Kurt wanted to brush his fingertips over them but kept his hands at his sides. "So that was fun."

"Hmm….a little warning next time might be helpful," Kurt chided, smiling to let him know he wasn't really upset. "But yeah, that was fun. I don't usually get to sing that song. Why'd you pick it?"

Blaine shrugged. "It's one of my faves from the cast recording, and I figured you would know it. Do I need another reason?"

Kurt chuckled. "I guess not."

"Take your guitar for you? Since you're just standing there?" Sam asked, holding his hand out for Blaine's instrument.

"Oh, sorry!" Blaine seemed to realize that he was letting his cousin do all the work of packing up their equipment.

"Can I help?" Kurt asked.

"Nah, it's okay. We know where everything goes," Sam said brusquely.

A few minutes later everything was packed up and carried to Sam's van. Kurt was allowed to help with that last step, not because Sam changed his mind but because Blaine simply handed him a speaker and indicated Kurt should follow him.

The cousins stood next to the van and clapped each other on the back, congratulating themselves on a good music set, and agreed they'd see each other at the oyster roast the next day. Sam gave Kurt a nod and a perfunctory 'nice to meet you' before getting in his van to drive away, leaving the two of them standing in the parking lot.

"Well…this has been a nice evening, thanks for inviting me out," Kurt said. Now who was being awkward and perfunctory?

"Thanks for coming."

"Is there, umm…anywhere around here that stays open late? I could buy you a drink?" Kurt was reluctant for the night to end, but looking around, the parking lot was practically empty and only the occasional car drove by on Front Street. Only one couple remained on the restaurant's deck behind them, still finishing their meal.

Blaine huffed a laugh. "There aren't many options on a Thursday night at this time of year, no. Come summer, when it's tourist season, more restaurants and bars stay open late, but even then….not sure they'd be the friendliest places for us, y'know?"

Kurt nodded his understanding. "So this is goodnight, then?"

"Well, we could always go back to my place," Blaine offered. "Grab a six pack on the way and just hang out for a while, get to know each other better?"

Kurt hadn't realized how much he wanted that invitation, till it was extended. "I'd love to."

* * *

 **A/N: The song they sing is "Some Other Me" from If/Then, which was mentioned previously as the show that Kurt is currently performing on Broadway. Those of you familiar with the song know that it wouldn't adapt the easiest to being sung by two men...but the overall theme and mood of the song match so well with my ideas for this story that I couldn't resist using it.**

 **Reviews are always appreciated!**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Thanks once again to neyronrose for proofreading. Any remaining mistakes are my responsibility.**

* * *

Blaine cut the engine and picked up the brown paper bag he'd stashed in the back seat. Turned out, when they stopped at the ABC store, that Kurt's taste leaned more toward wine than beer, which he really should have expected.

"I probably should warn you about where I live," he'd said as Kurt perused the wall of NC wines, after saying that he'd rather try something local.

"Warn me? That sounds ominous." He picked up a Duplin wine with the label featuring Cape Hatteras lighthouse, and quirked a brow at Blaine, inviting him to explain.

"Not ominous," Blaine said, chuckling a little. "It's just that a few people, when I take them there for the first time, make a very quick assumption that I live in a mansion and I'm rich. Which is not the case."

"Hmm. I think I'll try this one," Kurt said as he handed him a Carolina Red. "We don't have muscadines in New York, so it should be something different for me. As for where you live…why don't you take me there and I can see for myself?" That question was followed by a wink.

And Blaine, bemused at his flirtatious tone, paid for the wine and they both got back in their trucks to continue to his home, with Kurt following behind him. He'd offered to drive them both, knowing Kurt had had a Shipwreck with his dinner, but the other man waved his offer away. He'd had one drink three hours ago, with food, and was fine to drive. Besides, he didn't want to leave his dad's truck parked in Beaufort all night.

Now Blaine pulled up to the keypad next to the gate and punched in his code, hearing Merida's excited barking from the other side. As soon as the gate opened wide enough, she rushed through, jumping up to hook her paws over his open window and pant in his face.

"Good girl, good girl," he tried to soothe her, rubbing behind her ears. "Okay, that's enough, get down." The gates were fully open and he was ready to drive through if he could get his pony-sized dog off the door, but her only answer was a bark. Blaine sighed, put the truck in park and opened his door, getting out. "Jump in, then." With a single leap she bounded into his seat and clambered over the center console, all long limbs too awkward for the enclosed space of the truck's cab, and sat up straight in the passenger seat, with her tail thumping happily.

He waved an apology to Kurt, who sat waiting in his truck behind them, and got in to finally drive through the gate. He drove past the main house, glancing over to make sure a few lights were on as they should be. Up the long driveway that cut through the manicured lawn with its well-tended bushes and flowerbeds, toward the glimmer of moonlight on the water, till he veered right to follow a smaller drive that branched off from the main driveway and was paved only with gravel, till he stopped at a small cottage nestled under the pines. He'd left the porch light on when he went to the restaurant and a pool of light stretched far enough to cover the hoods of their trucks.

He cut the engine, wondering what Kurt's apartment in New York looked like. Did he have a roommate, or live alone? Was his apartment one of those swanky ones that got featured in magazines? No, probably not. Though he got the impression that Kurt Hummel could decorate an interior worthy of being printed in a magazine, he probably wasn't successful enough on Broadway to afford that. More likely he lived in one of those tiny studios, which Blaine knew from researching a few years ago, still weren't cheap.

Kurt pulled up next to him as Blaine got out and let his dog jump down on the driver's side. He got his guitar from the flatbed and circled the back of the truck as Kurt got out of his.

"You see why I warned you about jumping to conclusions," Blaine smiled, thumbing over his shoulder toward the main house. Only the lights could be seen now, filtering through the trees that were still mostly bare from winter.

"Yes, I understand now. So I take it this is where you actually live?" He turned toward the cottage.

"Yep." He invited Kurt to follow with a "C'mon" and walked up the three steps to the porch that stretched the entire width of the cottage front, trying not to drop the wine bottle as he dug for his keys.

"Here, let me take that," Kurt offered, and took the wine bottle, allowing Blaine to lean the guitar case against the house and use both hands to unlock the door. He reached through to flip on the living room light and walked through, his dog squishing herself through the doorway with him.

"You can hang your jacket up right there," he said to Kurt, indicating the closet behind him, "and I'll be right back."

He came back after washing his hands—because somehow he didn't think Kurt would appreciate the doggy smell—to find his guest perusing the photographs in the living room. They were mostly of his aunt, uncle, and cousins, but also a few of a young Blaine and his parents in the various countries where his dad had been stationed. There were photos of him performing with the local community theatre group or in high school or college, pictures of Merida, an official photograph of his father in his military uniform, and one of Cooper's professional acting headshots. And his favorite, a picture of himself as a toddler in his mom's lap as she read him a story. Her face was in profile as she looked down at the book, and his younger self looked up at her with such adoration that it made Blaine's heart catch every time he looked at it. He remembered what it felt like, to love her the way he had then. He still loved her, but loving a memory of someone wasn't the same.

Kurt must have heard him. He turned and smiled. "Quite the collection of photos here. I feel like I know you better, just by looking at these for five minutes."

"You probably do." His whole life was depicted on that wall. "Shall I pour us a drink?"

"Yes, please."

Blaine left him browsing and went to find his little-used corkscrew, Merida following him. Luckily, the corkscrew was in the second drawer he searched and he managed to open the bottle without dropping any cork into the liquid, which he counted as a win. He sidestepped his dog as he went back to the living room and offered a glass to his guest.

"Merida, lay down," he ordered, knowing she would stay under his feet as long as he let her. She hung her head but obeyed, circling a patch of carpet before flopping down and settling her head on her paws with a sigh. "Would you like to sit?" he invited Kurt, waving toward the couch.

Kurt smiled and settled in the middle of the couch, folding one leg easily under himself so he could turn sideways and face Blaine, who left a bit of space between them when he sat down. They sipped their wine for a moment as Kurt surveyed the room. It wasn't overly decorated, Blaine never having been much into that. Aside from the photos, there were only a handful of knick-knacks. A flat-screen TV was mounted on the wall and his electric keyboard with bench were pushed against the opposite wall. He'd like to put an upright piano in here but knew it would make the room crowded. The cottage was nothing spacious or fancy, but Blaine enjoyed living here.

"So how'd you come to live in an in-law cottage?" Kurt asked, breaking the silence. "Have you always lived here? As an adult I mean."

"No, not always. After college Sam and I both went back to live with his parents for a while." Blaine hesitated but decided to leave it at that. The reasons behind their move back home weren't something he wanted to get into right now. "A few months later, when we were both settled into our jobs and had saved some money, we got an apartment together and that was great for a few years. Just a couple of guys in their twenties eating a lot of pizza and going out on the weekends, playing beach bum over the summer….it was great." Blaine smiled at the memory of those carefree days.

"I never had much of the male-bonding experience myself, seems like I've always ended up with girls as my close friends and roommates." Kurt's eyes were on his glass, watching the wine swirl as he rolled the glass stem back and forth in his fingers. "But I'm glad you enjoyed it. Seems like you and Sam are really close."

"Yep. Have been, since we were fourteen. Before that, really…but when I moved here to live permanently, we became each other's shadows and have been ever since." Blaine shifted to toe off shoes and prop his feet on the coffee table. "Feel free to get comfortable," he invited. "Merida and I aren't big on formality."

With a smile, Kurt copied his pose and leaned back a little more on the couch, looking more relaxed. "So…why aren't you and Sam still rooming together?"

"Well, Sam's girlfriend Penny is a nurse. She works at the hospital now, but about two years ago, she decided she wanted to be a travel nurse. Said it was the perfect time to see the country, before she was ready to get married and have kids and all that. She wanted Sam to go with her, and he agreed to it. He was gone for about a year, but found out he didn't like living elsewhere. He's a local boy through and through, loves it here. Loves the small-town vibe, being near the beach, going out on the water—I personally think he was born with salt water in his veins." Blaine had often envied his cousin for his strong sense of belonging to a certain place, in contrast to his own upbringing in various states and countries. For him, Carteret County was somewhere he'd landed when it felt like he had nowhere else to go.

Kurt chuckled at the description of Sam, unaware of the turn Blaine's thoughts had taken. "So he came back?"

Blaine nodded. "He and Penny broke up over it, and he came back here. Kinda wanted us to room together again, but I was here by then and it's a great setup here for me and Merida, I didn't really want to move. So he moved back in with his parents for a while. That was almost a year ago now, and Penny just moved back here about a month ago. She says she's ready to stay put now and they're dating again. Wouldn't surprise me if they moved in together sometime in the next few months."

"So that's Sam's story…but how'd you end up here?"

"Right, sorry." Blaine realized he'd gotten off track, and took a sip of wine, telling himself to focus, though the wine was unlikely to help with that. "When he left, I didn't want to pay rent on a two-bedroom apartment by myself or get a new roommate, so I found a one-bedroom in an apartment complex. I guess I didn't think about it before moving into my new place, but I'd never lived alone. I'd always lived with my family, or with roommates. I got lonely after a while, and decided to get Merida." He smiled over his glass at his dog, now sprawled out snoring, taking up most of the space in the center of the room. "I got her when she was just a puppy, and paid the pet deposit for the apartment and figured everything was fine….but I forgot to account for how big an Irish Wolfhound would get." Blaine shook his head at himself. "I mean, it's not like I didn't research the breed ahead of time, I knew they were big dogs. It just didn't seem quite real when I could pick her up and carry her, you know?"

Kurt observed the sleeping giant on the floor. "So she got too big for the apartment?"

"Oh, definitely. And too big for apartment regulations," Blaine said. "I'd forgotten the fine print on the lease. No pets over fifty pounds allowed. So before she was four months old, the building manager was knocking on my door, telling me to get rid of my dog or move out."

"And obviously you didn't get rid of her."

"No, of course not." He'd never even considered the idea. He'd heard of people who got a puppy and then abandoned it for no reason other than 'it wasn't cute anymore.' He personally thought there was a special circle of Hell reserved for people like that, but Kurt didn't seem to be much of a dog person and Blaine wasn't going to start ranting about animal welfare. Instead, he just explained, "I wasn't going to toss her to the curb—or the local pound—just because I didn't plan well enough for being a dog owner."

"So is that when you moved here?"

"Mm-hmm. The manager gave me sixty days' notice, so I started looking at apartments, even a couple of small houses. I wanted a place with a yard for her. My sixty days were almost up and I was on the verge of asking my aunt and uncle if I could move back into my old room at their house for a while….their house is back in the woods and has a huge yard, plenty of room for dogs to run. But I was approached by a parent of one of my students, saying that they knew someone who wanted to rent out the cottage behind their vacation house. The owners live in Raleigh and live here less than half the time. It's perfect for me and Merida, they have a huge fenced-in yard here and the owner doesn't mind my dog as long as I clean up after her. And they like having a lodger here because I keep an eye on the house for them, let them know if there are problems, stuff like that. Merida gets to run off her energy while pretending to be a guard dog."

"Sounds like a happy ending for everyone."

"So far, yeah." Blaine sipped again while he cast about for something else to say, though the silence didn't really feel awkward or uncomfortable. A whip-poor-will sounded its call outside and he knew exactly what to say. "Want to see one of my favorite things about living here?" At Kurt's nod he got up and led the way through the small kitchen to the back door that opened onto his deck, snagging the wine bottle along the way. "Aside from it being a cute little cottage with a huge yard for my dog….it has a killer view."

The cottage sat only feet away from Bogue Sound, with water creeping up into Blaine's yard. The moon was nearly full, shedding enough light to show the dock and a skiff tied to it. They were far enough from the highway that no sounds of civilization reached them here. There were only the surrounding trees with their animal tenants, the water and the moon.

"Want to sit?" Blaine asked. There were two padded lounge chairs with a small table between them, dimly lit from the kitchen light inside. He waited for Kurt to settle into his seat before holding the wine bottle over his glass in question, pouring when Kurt nodded. He refilled his own glass and got comfortable, letting the night breathe around them for a moment before commenting, "Bet you don't get a view like this in New York."

"Not hardly. Been a while since I've been this close to nature."

He snorted. "Kurt…we're three steps away from the door of a modern cottage with lights and central heat and A/C, and a flat-screen TV. We're hardly camping in the wilderness here, digging holes to poop in."

"Thank you ever-so-much for that visual, Blaine."

"You're welcome." He grinned, though Kurt probably couldn't see it in the darkness. "But you get my point, I hope."

"Yes. I know what you mean. But to a diehard city guy like me, this is pretty rustic."

"Do you ever get tired of it? Living in the city?"

Merida padded through the door he'd left open and flopped down between them, heaving a sigh as if she were just so done with these humans who wouldn't stay in one place so she could have a proper nap.

It was a long moment before Kurt answered. "Sometimes. Sometimes it all gets to be a bit too much. The constant noise, the traffic, the bombardment of all the senses….even when you've lived there a long time and you're able to ignore most of it, it can still get overwhelming."

"So what do you do, then? When it gets to be too much?" Blaine reached out a socked foot, using it to rub Merida's side. She rolled halfway on her back, offering her tummy for rubbing.

"I guess that's when I book a flight home to Ohio. Visit my Dad and Carole, let them spoil me a bit. You're never too old to be spoiled by your parents, in my opinion."

"Of course not….or by whatever family you have. I go to my aunt's and uncle's house every Sunday for family dinner. And sometimes during the week as well, but always for Sunday dinner."

"Does this ever get to be too much? Or maybe I should ask, not enough?" Kurt asked, waving at the water. "I mean, the quiet, the small town vibe? Do you ever wish for things you can't get here?"

"Oh, all the time. I'd love to live someplace with more options of things to do, with more diversity, with an active gay community to be a part of. Someplace with more culture, more…." He sighed. "Just more."

"So why don't you?" Kurt asked.

"What, and miss Sunday dinner?" His fingers were getting cold, wrapped around the chilled wine. It was almost midnight now and there was a bite to the air. He set his glass on the table and crossed his arms over his chest, tucking his fingers in his armpits to warm them.

"It's just a meal, Blaine. Do you know how many restaurants there are in New York City? I've never actually looked for one with Southern cooking, but I'm sure there must be a few. New York has everything."

"You trying to convince me to move to New York, Kurt?"

"It's a thought." Blaine caught the teasing tone and again tried to decipher whether Kurt was being more playful or serious. "What if I am?"

"I'd say….sounds great in theory, but my life is here. And no restaurant could replace Sunday dinner with my family."

"But you also said that you want something more."

He had said that, and he did sometimes want more, but….he didn't know how to explain his conflicted feelings to the man sitting next to him, who'd left behind his family and home at eighteen and ventured into the big city. Blaine hadn't been that brave as a teen. He wasn't sure he was brave enough now. Kurt tilted his head at him in the semi-darkness, and Blaine finally answered with, "We don't get everything we want in life, Kurt."

He saw, from the corner of his eye, that Kurt was still looking at him, but didn't return his gaze. He picked up his wine again and drank, looking straight ahead to the moonlight on the water, and eventually Kurt said softly, "No, I guess not." And then he shivered.

"It's getting a little nippy out here."

"Warm compared to New York right now," Kurt answered as he rubbed his arms.

"Still. We should go inside." Blaine swung his legs off the lounger and stood up, reaching for the wine bottle on the table.

"Or we could share a seat and warm each other up," Kurt said, looking up at him from his seat. He scooted over and patted the seat next to him.

Blaine's heartbeat quickened. It sounded so romantic, cuddling on the porch to ward off the slight chill of the springtime night. He could get a blanket and their shared body heat would create a cozy bubble under the covers….which could lead to other kinds of heat that he wasn't sure he was ready for. He'd only met Kurt two days ago, for crying out loud.

"I think we should go inside," he replied awkwardly, and clucked his tongue to get Merida's attention. She followed him inside readily, but it took Kurt a moment longer to follow, sliding the glass door closed behind him.

"More wine?" Blaine offered. Kurt shook his head, so Blaine took his glass and set both in the sink.

"May I use your bathroom?" Kurt asked from behind him.

"Of course," he answered over his shoulder. "When you go back out in the living room, it'll be the first door on your right." He busied himself putting the cork back in the bottle and finding a space for it in the fridge. Stepping back into the living room, he picked up the remote and was flipping channels when Kurt came out of the bathroom behind him.

"Do you want to watch something?" Blaine asked, without turning around. "The people who own the mansion had all the same channels they bought for the main house, put out here as well, so I have pretty much every movie channel known to man."

"No thanks," Kurt said from behind him. "I can think of better ways to pass the time."

He turned to ask what Kurt had in mind, and found Kurt was _right there_ , crowding close and leaning in for a kiss.

He caught his breath at finding the other man so close, and almost wanted to step back but stopped himself. _It's just a kiss, Anderson._ So instead he took the half-step that would bring them flush against each other and rested his hands lightly on Kurt's hips, still holding the remote in his right. The first kiss was hesitant, lips tasting of sweet red wine barely brushing as Kurt's arms circled his shoulders. Blaine broke it to breathe, to say something that he was sure would come out sounding stupid, like _that was nice, now do you want to look for a movie to watch?_ But as he pulled away he was caught by Kurt's eyes, unblinking on his own. It was the first time he'd looked at his eyes this closely, and realized they weren't just one color but a mix of blue and green and gray…then the mixed hues were covered as Kurt closed his eyes to lean in again.

Deeper this time, Kurt nibbling at his lower lip and licking lightly till Blaine opened his mouth. That kiss stretched into several, till Kurt broke it to ask in a husky whisper, "Shall we move this to your bedroom? With hopefully a closed door between us and any spectators?"

It was the first time he'd heard Kurt's voice like that, and it went straight to his groin. Part of him wanted to say yes, to just act on impulse for _once_ in his life, but….instead he took a step back, dropping his hands. "Kurt….I didn't mean to give you the wrong impression when I invited you here to hang out. When I said hang out, I meant just that. Just drink some wine, and talk. I'm, uh….I don't really do one-night stands or casual flings."

"Who said anything about a one-night stand?" Kurt asked. He was flushed and breathing heavily, stepping closer again.

Blaine put a hand to Kurt's chest, keeping space between them even as he noticed the delicious hardness of the muscles under his hand, making his fingertips tingle. He tried to think clearly.

"Kurt, you leave in a couple days," he said in an even tone. "What else would it be but a one-night stand? A two-night stand?"

"And what would be wrong with that?"

Blaine dropped his hand and stepped away, putting the coffee table between them, dropping the remote on it, then realizing the TV was still on and picking it up again to turn the TV off before letting it clatter back down. He walked a half circle around the couch, leaning his hands on the back of it as he faced Kurt again.

"Is this what you do in New York, Kurt? Have sex with guys you've just met?"

At that, Kurt went still. "I didn't _just meet_ you, Blaine." His diction was crystal clear on each word. He spoke softly but his low volume only emphasized the underlying edge to his tone. "We've known each other a couple days, it's not like we met each other in a bar and-" His volume was increasing, tripping over his words now—"stumbled drunk to whoever's place was closest to screw each other's brains out as soon as we were in the door."

"Have…have you done that?" Blaine asked hesitantly.

"A few times. What's the big deal?" He threw his hands up in the air. "As long as everything is safe and consensual, why should a couple guys getting laid matter to anyone else?"

"I just…." Blaine heaved a sigh. "I've never done that. Never regarded sex so casually."

"Well, I wouldn't want to corrupt you, Blaine. I'll go now, if my loose morals are bothering you." He stomped to the closet to get his jacket, and Blaine panicked. He didn't want Kurt to leave….how had their evening led to this?

"Kurt, don't." He was there by the time the other man turned away from the closet, coat in hand. "I don't know how we got to where we're suddenly pissed off at each other, but I don't want you to leave like this. Will you stay so we can talk it out?" Kurt pursed his mouth, glancing between Blaine and the door. "Please?" he asked again. "We'll sit down and just talk."

"All right. We'll talk." He hung his coat back up and closed the door, seeming to take care to do so quietly.

Blaine sat on one end of the couch and silently gestured to the other end. "So we seem to have different….relationship styles," he started, hearing how stilted he sounded but he just wanted to get Kurt talking again.

Kurt settled himself on the opposite end of the couch, with a large center cushion between them. "You're not waiting till you get married, are you?"

Blaine rolled his eyes. "I'm not a virgin, Kurt. I've had a couple relationships, but sex only happened after we'd been dating a while."

"So…you're telling me you've only slept with two guys?" he asked, disbelieving.

"Three, Kurt," Blaine specified, holding up three fingers. "When I said a couple, I didn't mean exactly two. It's a figure of speech and I'm not a prude, so don't try to make me sound like one. Why? How many have you slept with?"

"More than three." Kurt said tersely.

"Do you even know how many?" Blaine asked, appalled.

"You said for me not to make you sound like a prude, Blaine….so don't go making me sound like a slut!" Kurt snapped at him.

From the floor, Merida raised her head to stare at Kurt. A low growl rumbled in her throat.

"Down, girl," Blaine said automatically, without taking his eyes off the man at the other end of the couch. Kurt's lips were pressed together tightly, fists clenched in his lap. "You're right," Blaine said after a moment. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to imply that. Consenting adults can do what they want, as long as they're safe about it."

"So glad to get your approval," Kurt ground out.

"I said I was sorry," Blaine said, barely loud enough to carry. If he raised his voice too, Merida would be on the couch between them, baring her teeth at Kurt.

"Would you like to see the results from my latest blood test, Blaine?" He pulled his phone from his pocket. "I get myself tested every three months."

"Is that necessary?" How many men did Kurt sleep with, to make that sort of frequent testing necessary?

"It's a precaution, Blaine. And yeah, when I meet a new guy and he asks if I've been tested recently, I want to be able to say yes. Even with condoms, it's good to know your partner has been tested." He was flicking through screens on his phone as he spoke, and turned it around for Blaine to see. "There. Dated a month ago, from the GMHC. Negative on all test results."

He only skimmed the tiny print on the screen, seeing the word 'negative' repeated several times. "Okay, I believe you."

Kurt sat back, putting his phone back in his pocket and looking somewhat mollified.

"But Kurt…" Blaine started again, haltingly. "You understand that fear of STDs is not the only reason I said no, right?"

"Okay," Kurt said like he was working to stay open-minded. "Tell me, then."

"I just…." Blaine was at a loss how to start. To him, the idea of needing to have an established relationship and emotional bond with someone before having sex with him wasn't something that needed explanation. "Let me put it this way. I told you that I've slept with three guys, right?" Kurt nodded. "I'm still in touch with all three of them. Even if it's just being Facebook friends, even if we rarely comment on each other's posts or rarely see each other….I know where they are and how their lives are going, I know how to contact them if I wanted. Can you say the same of all the guys you've slept with?"

Kurt looked like it pained him to admit it. "No."

"Are you still in touch with any of them?"

"A couple," Kurt conceded. "Facebook friends, like you said, or maybe we have mutual friends and we sometimes end up at the same event, or I hear about them through mutual friends. But the majority of them, no."

"See, I just don't think I'd want to have sex with someone who I didn't care enough about to stay in touch with after, even if the relationship didn't work out for whatever reason."

They were both silent for a moment, and Blaine tried to read Kurt's expression, wondering if he was insulted. Blaine didn't mean to slut-shame, he really didn't….but relationships like Kurt described were outside his personal experience.

"I wasn't always like this," Kurt said finally, his voice soft as though admitting to a secret he'd rather not tell. He didn't look at Blaine.

He turned more fully toward him, studying his profile. "What do you mean?"

"If you had known me in high school….I was the biggest romantic you could imagine. I'd never dated anyone, because no one else at my entire school was out, no one I knew of in the entire town was out….so it wasn't like I had dating options anyway, but…long before I got to New York and started dating, I had all these rosy ideas about what I wanted my relationships to be like. I wanted the flowers, and the candlelight dinners, and every overdone romantic cliché you could think of."

"But you didn't get it." Blaine could almost picture young Kurt daydreaming about everything he wanted. "What happened?"

"I moved to New York." Kurt waved a flippant hand, as if that explanation were obvious. Blaine shrugged his shoulders in a 'go on' gesture. Kurt sighed. "I was…I was so idealistic and naïve, but it only took the city a few months to crush those ideals. I went from an environment where no one dared to be openly gay, and I didn't know any other gay guys, not one, to a place where I was surrounded by out-and-proud guys. And it seemed like anyone who wanted an actual relationship, was already in one. The guys who were available, well….let's just say they didn't bother with romance."

"I'm sorry." Blaine hesitated, not wanting to give the wrong idea, but then leaned forward to put a hand on Kurt's knee. "You should have gotten the romance you wanted."

"Thanks." He looked at him, finally, a sad smile curving his lips. "It's a little late now, though. I can't go back to being eighteen. Not sure I'd want to." His phone buzzed and he pulled it out again. "Sorry….my _dad_ apparently thinks I'm still eighteen. He'd asked me to text him if I was going to be out—well, out late—and apparently I passed his deadline for checking in." Thumbs poised over the screen, he looked at Blaine. "Should I let him know I'm on my way?"

"You don't have to," Blaine said. "I mean, if you'd like to stay a while longer, and talk…I really do want to get to know you better."

He looked back at his phone, fingers moving again. "Dear Dad…don't…wait…up," he said aloud as he typed. "Done. So what shall we talk about?"

Blaine meant to give that question its due consideration, but instead he blurted out, "Your dad still checks up on you?"

"Yeah, whenever I'm visiting at home, or visiting with my parents wherever they may be, he wants to know when I'll be home. And it's not like he gives me a curfew, I can stay out all night. But he just wants me to check in so he knows I'm safe."

"Sounds like he cares a lot about you."

"We've always been close, especially since losing my Mom." His smile had a bittersweet quality to it now, expressing a feeling that Blaine knew well.

"I told you what happened between me and my dad, after my Mom passed away," Blaine said softly. "For us, all it did was drive distance between us. Or maybe just pointed out the distance that was always there."

"I'm sorry, that must have sucked."

Blaine couldn't help laughing at Kurt's blunt slang. "Pretty much, yeah. I mean, it felt like I lost both parents in the space of a few months." He studied his linked fingers in his lap for a moment, while Kurt sat quietly as if sensing that Blaine needed to build up to what he was about to say. "You weren't the only one who had rosy ideas about romance," he confessed. "I wanted it too."

"Did you ever get it? With any of the guys you dated?"

"Umm….a little, yeah."

"So let me live vicariously through you, Blaine. What was that like?" Kurt shifted on the couch, getting more comfortable, and looking relaxed for the first time since they'd kissed. He propped an elbow on the back of the couch and leaned his cheek on his hand, as if settling in for a story.

"Umm…well…" Blaine tried to think how to start. At the beginning was usually a good place, right? "My first boyfriend was at college. Didn't really date during high school. There were a couple out guys around here, but they weren't my type. Besides, everyone here knows everyone's business. I didn't want to deal with the gossip unless I felt the guy and the relationship were worth it, so I didn't really have many opportunities till college."

Kurt nodded his understanding but didn't interrupt.

"So my first boyfriend, Anthony—he was actually really good at the romance thing in private. All the clichés you mentioned, the candlelit dinners and all that. He'd invite me over to his apartment and cook for me, really put forth effort to make it nice. In private." He emphasized the last phrase.

"In the closet?" he guessed.

Blaine see-sawed his hand. "Not entirely, his family knew he was gay. I met them a couple times. But it seemed like he wasn't willing to be fully out. He never wanted to be seen with me in public, unless it was at the back of a dark movie theater—which we'd arrived at in separate cars, by the way—and at first I put up with it, because I'm not kidding, he was really really good at the romance thing in private. Made me feel special, y'know? And I wanted that so badly that I was willing to sacrifice my self-respect for it….but not forever. So I broke it off," he finished.

"You said you're still in touch with all your exes," Kurt commented. "So did he ever get over his fears?"

"Yeah, he did. Eventually. I think part of his issue was, he was a jock attending college on an athletic scholarship and you know how macho the athletic world can be. Back then, there weren't any out pro athletes, but there have been several since then and I think that helped him. He's been dating the same guy for a couple years and I see pictures of their activities—public activities—on Facebook, so I think he's doing well." Blaine nodded. "I'm happy for him."

"But where did that leave you?" Kurt asked.

"Hmm….tried dating a few other guys, but didn't really hit it off with any of them, never had another serious relationship till my senior year. He was in theatre, I was in music, and there was some crossover between departments. I played piano for their production of _Cabaret_ and he was the Emcee." Blaine smiled fondly at the memory, while Kurt laughed outright. He looked over at him, waiting for an explanation.

"Any man who plays the Emcee, if he plays it right," Kurt explained, "is either proudly out of the closet or very, very secure in his masculinity."

"Point taken," Blaine smiled back. "He was proudly out, and I'd seen him in a few other productions before that one, I'd seen him around town on his dates. I knew I wouldn't have the same problem with him that I'd had with Anthony."

"But obviously something went wrong," Kurt prompted.

"Actually, something went very right, for him at least. He got an ensemble job on a national tour and was gone a week after graduation. Not like he'd pass up an opportunity like that for someone he'd been dating for less than a year. I wouldn't want him to."

"I get that. I've had lots of friends lose relationships because of going on the road. It's a tough career for relationships." He paused before asking, "So do you want to tell me about number three? May as well finish the story," he teased.

"Number three, as you called him, went away with more of a whimper than a bang. There's not much to tell, really….he was my longest relationship but otherwise my least memorable, I guess?"

"How so?"

"Well, it ended when we finally admitted to ourselves that there wasn't a lot of passion or chemistry between us. We stayed together as long as we did because we liked each other and the relationship was comfortable, but….we both wanted more, y'know?"

"I know that feeling well," Kurt said with feeling.

"So why-" Blaine cut himself off, turned to face Kurt more fully, and started again. "Look, I really don't want to start another argument, but I'm having trouble reconciling what I know of you right now, and what you told me you were like as a teenager, with what you told me of your dating life in New York. It just, it sounds like you settled for less than you're worth, and I don't know why." He leaned forward, taking Kurt's hand in his own. "Why would you do that?" Kurt looked stricken, his eyes wide and blinking rapidly as if to stave off tears. "Oh my God, I shouldn't have asked that. Forget I said anything."

"No, no, it's okay." He withdrew his hand from Blaine's to press it to his mouth, closed his eyes and seemed to focus very deliberately on breathing in and out several times, while Blaine waited. He opened his eyes finally. "You're right, I have thrown myself around like I don't matter. The one thing I swore I'd never do, and I've been doing it for years now." One tear finally escaped as he blinked, and Blaine turned to grab a tissue from the box on the end table, grateful now for his aunt's advice on certain household matters. He passed it to Kurt, who dabbed at his eyes before looking at Blaine directly. "As for why…I guess, just because life's too short. You and I both lost our mothers as children, we know how quickly something like that can happen. I just….I guess I got tired of waiting, Blaine. Prince Charming didn't ride up on his white horse after all, and I settled for—well, they weren't all frogs," he laughed. "Though a few were, especially the morning after. But definitely not Prince Charming." He squished the tissue in his fist and looked over at him. "Has anyone ever told you that _you_ look like a Disney Prince?"

"Me?" Blaine sat back. "No, no one's ever told me that."

"You do," Kurt said softly. "And I wish I'd met you in high school, or even when I first got to New York…just, before I gave up on my ideals and let myself settle for the good-enough."

"Sounds like neither of us got our fairy tale." Blaine lifted his shoulders in resignation. "But…the story's not over yet." He winked.

"Maybe this is intermission," Kurt suggested, with a hint of a smile. "And we still have the entire second act before the finale."

"I can go with that." Blaine hesitated, but leaned forward, fingertips under Kurt's chin. "This is just a kiss, okay?" At Kurt's nod, he pressed lips to his softly, then sat back to see his reaction.

Kurt opened his eyes slowly, and gazed back at Blaine, giving one slow blink before saying, "If this is intermission, I wouldn't mind waiting a while for that second act to start."

* * *

 **A/N: I posted a picture set on Tumblr yesterday, showing some of the locations used in this story so far, plus a cute pic of Merida on the beach. You can look on my Tumblr. I'm whitesheepcbd on there as well. Or search the tag #whitesheepfic on Tumblr and it'll be the only picture set under that tag.**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Many humble apologies for the long wait since the last chapter. Thanks to notthatbea and neyronrose for beta and proofreading.**

* * *

The pre-dawn breeze whipped in from the ocean and cut through his windbreaker as Kurt climbed carefully up the steps to the front door of the beach house. It was crazy, the way everything around here was on stilts. It was because of hurricanes, Blaine had said. Kurt had never experienced one himself, but apparently they involved a lot of flooding and it helped to have one's house elevated.

A particularly hard gust caught him off guard and he staggered a bit against the railing, wincing as he heard the loud creak. He must be more tired than he thought, if a breeze could blow him off balance. Well, in his defense, the other half of his mind pointed out, it _was_ nearly 4:00 am.

He and Blaine had sat on the couch talking for hours longer after their big discussion on relationships. Kurt couldn't remember the last time he'd done that….just talked and talked for hours on end with someone new, someone he was just getting to know, someone who was interested in knowing him. Someone who didn't know his stories, and he didn't know theirs. Blaine was endlessly fascinating to him….in some ways so worldly and open-minded, but he was such a small-town boy in other ways. It was a dichotomy that Kurt was still trying to figure out.

At some point around 2:00 am, they'd agreed that dinner had been way too long ago and moved their talk to the kitchen in search of snacks. Blaine had seemed embarrassed that he didn't really have much on hand, saying that he tended to rely too much on takeout and getting home-cooked meals at his aunt's and uncle's house a couple times a week. But Kurt had spied a half block of cream cheese that was still good, and a can of biscuits that Blaine said he'd forgotten about. Kurt snagged those two items from the refrigerator and said, "Please tell me you have chocolate chips."

A search through the cabinet with his baking supplies had produced a bag of Nestle Semi-Sweet Morsels, much to Blaine's surprise, and Kurt informed him, "We're making Monkey Bread."

Blaine had never heard of it, but was happy to let Kurt take the lead, and soon enough they were cutting the biscuit dough into quarters and flattening them out to drop cubes of cream cheese and chocolate chips in the middle before rolling each chunk of dough into a ball. Blaine didn't have any pecans, but those were optional anyway. He did have cinnamon, which Kurt quickly mixed with sugar in a Ziploc bag so they could drop the dough balls in and shake thoroughly to cover them in the mixture. Twenty minutes later, the gooey sticky treats were coming out of the oven and being tipped onto a plate to cool, with the enticing smell of bread, sugar, cheese and chocolate in the air.

They could hardly wait to try them, burning their tongues which they then soothed with milk. By 3:00 am, the coffee table was littered with a mostly-empty baking pan, empty glasses, and napkins shredded with their attempts to wipe the sticky cinnamon off their fingers. Kurt was full, relaxed, and pleasantly woozy with a combination of sugar high, tiredness, and the lingering effects of the wine they'd had when they first arrived. He'd yawned and stretched, the good kind of stretch that reached from fingertips overhead to the tips of his toes, which he'd pointed out of habit….and looked over at Blaine, abashed.

"Sorry," he'd offered, laughing a little.

"It's okay," Blaine tried to say, but the last syllable was swallowed up by a yawn. "You're not the only one." He'd glanced at the time on the cable box. "It's really late, you're welcome to stay here and sleep on the couch. I hate to think of you trying to drive back this late."

Kurt had considered it…and found he liked the idea of waking up here, in Blaine's cozy unpretentious cottage, liked the idea of seeing Blaine sleep rumpled first thing in the morning and maybe cooking breakfast together. But what he really wanted was Blaine sleep-rumpled and naked in bed in the morning, and Blaine had made it clear that it was too soon for that.

"I think I'd better go," Kurt said with regret. "If I go to sleep here now, it might be noon before I wake and I'll start the day with ten messages from my dad, asking if I'm okay and when I'm bringing his truck back." He stood, stretching again and moving to the closet for his jacket.

"You're sure you're okay to drive?" Blaine asked. "You look pretty sleepy. I don't want you falling asleep at the wheel."

"I'll roll the windows down. The breeze will keep me awake," Kurt had assured him, putting on his jacket and checking to make sure his keys were still in the pocket.

"If you're sure." They walked outside to Kurt's truck and he felt his head clear instantly, just from the cool air on his skin. "Call me when you get there, okay, so I know you got back safe."

"Between you and my dad, I'll find a GPS tracker in my pocket before long," Kurt teased. In truth, it felt good to be surrounded by people who cared. "I'll text you." He stood with his hand on the door handle, hesitating. Moving slowly, he cupped Blaine's jaw in his hand and when the other man didn't pull away, tipped his head for a kiss. It tasted of cinnamon sugar and just a little bit of wine, and another taste that he was starting to recognize as unique to Blaine.

Kurt ended the kiss before he really wanted to, and the way Blaine leaned toward him as he drew back made him wonder if he didn't want more as well. But it was late and they'd already had that discussion. So instead, he said, "Thanks for a great evening. I really enjoyed it."

"Thank _you_." Blaine stepped back so Kurt could open the truck door and get in. "Don't forget to text me when you get there. Should only take you about twenty minutes from here, so I'll wait for your text before I go to sleep."

Kurt walked up the last steps to the porch and, remembering what Blaine had said about waiting to hear from him, shot off a quick text.

 _Safely home. G'night!_

His parents had left a light on in the living room for him, enough illumination seeping through the curtains to allow him to find the right key and get it in the lock. His phone beeped as he quietly pushed it open, feeling like a teenager who was sneaking in past curfew. Blaine's message was a simple _G'night!_ Another buzz. _Don't forget the oyster roast tmrw!_ _Err, later today._

Smiling at his phone as he walked in, Kurt didn't see his stepmother seated in the living room.

"Good morning, Kurt." She regarded him over the rim of a cup, which wasn't big enough to hide her smile.

"Carole." His adrenaline spiked and he reminded himself, as he closed and locked the door, that he wasn't _actually_ a teenager breaking curfew. Funny how even after not living at home full time for over a decade, he still felt like he needed to answer to his parents for his comings and goings. He hung his jacket up, remembering to drop his dad's truck keys back where he'd gotten them, before squaring his shoulders as he turned to face her.

"You're up late," he remarked. The single lamp left on in the room lit only one side of her face, leaving the rest in shadow.

"Hmm….I'm up early, actually. I fell asleep so early yesterday afternoon that now I'm awake in the middle of the night. Thought I'd stay up for a while, then see if I could go back to sleep." She took a sip and set her cup down on the end table. "The kettle should still be hot, if you want some Sleepytime tea."

Kurt considered it. When he left Blaine's, he could have sworn he'd come home and fall straight into bed. But the drive home—with the windows down as he'd said—had revived him. A cup of soothing hot tea might be just what he needed.

He nodded. "Sounds good."

"Tell you what, why don't you get changed and settled in, I'll get your tea for you." She was already getting up.

"Thanks, Carole." It didn't take long to change into yoga pants and a soft long-sleeved shirt for sleeping, so he was settling onto the couch just as Carole walked in with a steaming cup, the tag still hanging over the edge. He accepted it with thanks, warming his hands against the sides of the cup and blowing on it a little, appreciating the scent of chamomile and lemon wafting up.

"You must have had fun tonight," Carole commented. Even without looking at her, he could tell she was smiling again. He squeezed the tea bag and set it aside on the saucer.

"I did," he said, finally looking over at her. "Did Dad tell you where I was going?"

"Out with Blaine, he said."

"Yeah. Blaine and his cousin were playing music at a restaurant in….Beaufort," he remembered the name of the town after a moment. "Have you been there?"

"We've gone once or twice, just to look around. It's a cute little town, very picturesque."

"Well, I didn't see much of it, aside from Front Street when I was looking for a parking spot and that was in the dark, but 'quaint' was the word that came to mind."

"We should go back over there later today, after you've gotten some sleep, so you can see it in the daylight."

"Sounds nice," he said non-committally. Sleep sounded really good. Definitely needed sleep before agreeing to anything else.

"Maybe Blaine could meet us and play tour guide." The smile was even more obvious in her voice now.

"You _are_ trying to set us up, aren't you?" Kurt accused.

"Oh, so what if I am? You're the only child I have left to torture, let me have my fun."

Through the haze of tiredness, coming back now that he'd sat down again, he studied her, the way she sank back in the chair with no effort to sit up straight.

"Are you okay, Carole? Really okay, not just saying you're okay so we don't worry?"

She didn't answer for a long moment, only staring into the middle distance. "I'm as okay as it's possible for me to be this time of year," she answered finally.

He didn't know what to say to that. All the pointless platitudes had long since been exhausted over the past twelve years. So he just waited, till she looked back over at him.

"It's not an accident that we're here this week, instead of coming in the summer like we did the past two years."

"Dad said you wanted to beat the summer rush, and give yourself a break from the Ohio winter," Kurt responded.

"Those are pluses. But the real reason is because…I just couldn't bear to be there, in that house where Finn had his room, and passing by the high school on my way to buy groceries….I just couldn't do it anymore." Her voice cracked. "Not on the anniversary."

"I'm sorry, Carole." Kurt knew it was useless to say. But what other words did he have to offer? "I guess it really doesn't get easier."

"I think, for a few years, it did get easier." She shrugged one shoulder in her tan robe. "I think the first couple years were the worst, trying to adjust to life without him. But after we'd gone through all the firsts-his first birthday after the accident, the first Christmas without him, the first Mother's Day, it got more bearable for a few years."

He remembered that first Finn-less Mother's Day well. He'd asked his dad if he should come home for the occasion, even though he couldn't really afford it. Considering that he still hadn't brought himself to delete Finn's last text message from his phone, he wasn't sure how much help he'd be. But he'd been willing to fly out to Ohio, even if just for the weekend, if it would help. But his dad had told him to stay in New York, so Kurt sent an obscenely large bouquet of flowers, which he still couldn't really afford, and a gift card for Carole's favorite restaurant. And he'd called. Still, he remembered feeling adrift that day. Mother's Day was always difficult, since losing his own mother at age eight. That year, the emotional wallop was amplified by sympathy for what he knew Carole was going through.

"I remember that first year," he said softly. "So why do you think it got easier, then harder again?"

"Honestly?" She leaned her elbow on the arm rest, turning to face him more fully. "I think I just ran out of strength to endure it. At a certain point I thought I could let my guard down and relax a little, because enough time had passed that it wouldn't hurt as much….only to find out that it still hurt, just as damn much as the day the police showed up at our door." Her breath caught and her face screwed up. Kurt set his cup down with a clatter and stood up, to move over to her and offer comfort, but she held up a hand. "No. No, don't," she said without opening her eyes. "If I start crying now I won't stop, and I've cried my quota already."

He sincerely doubted there was a quota on tears, his own experience telling him the body could always produce more. But he sat down, and waited.

One long shuddering breath out, and she opened her eyes to offer a shaky smile. "Sorry."

He shook his head. "Don't apologize."

She picked up her cup again, taking a careful sip. The cup shook the slightest bit. "Anyway, that's why we took our vacation in March this year. Too many ghosts in Ohio. We hoped it might be easier here." Kurt started to comment, but thought better of it and closed his mouth. "And current evidence to the contrary, I think it has been easier," Carole said. "During the day, it's easier to be here, where no one knows us and we don't have to be surrounded by reminders. Tonight's the first time the grief has really hit me."

"Hopefully tomorrow will be better," he offered. "Well, later today," he amended, thinking of Blaine's text.

"Hopefully." She sighed, and tilted her cup back to drink the last of it. "Well, that's finished and I think I'll try to go back to sleep. You should get some sleep too, Kurt."

"Yes, Mom." He meant it as a joking sort of mild jab, in the _I'm-over-thirty-years-old-I-don't-need-you-nagging-me-Mom_ sort of way, but saw her face soften at the name. He didn't call her that very often. It had always seemed natural to both of them that he called her by her name, considering how late in his life she'd taken on the stepmother role for him. But now, Kurt realized, he'd spent almost as much of his life with her as his mom, as he had without her in his life. She'd earned the name, so why didn't he use it more often?

She bent over and placed a kiss on his forehead, brushing his hair back to reach skin.

"Goodnight, Kurt."

"Goodnight, Mom."

He woke, hours later, to a text from Blaine, time-stamped 8:12 am.

 _Dogs don't care what time you went to bed. Sun comes up, they think it's time to go out and chase squirrels. *groan*_

Kurt checked the time. It was past 11:30. Wow. He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept that late. Wait, he could…it was about two years ago. He'd had a horrible cold and missed three days of performances. He'd slept till noon one day and woken to a message that Rachel had left soup for him outside his door. Vegan soup, which in his opinion didn't have the same healing properties as chicken noodle. But it was nice of her anyway.

He typed a response, _Were you able to go back to sleep?_ and stretched to his full length in the bed, realizing as his muscles woke up that some parts of him were already awake. Smiling to himself, he slipped a hand under the waistband of his yoga pants, picturing Blaine shirtless on the beach, already anticipating his release…and his phone rang. He snatched his hand out like the caller was standing there looking at him, and grabbed for it. Blaine.

"Good morning," he said in a rush, or tried to. His voice was raspy with sleep, and he coughed. "Hold on a sec." He sat up, taking a drink from the bottle of water he always kept next to his bed, and cleared his throat. "Sorry. Take two….good morning." That was better. He didn't sound like he was about to jerk off to thoughts of the man on the other end of the line…did he?

"Good morning," Blaine laughed back. "Did you just wake up?"

"What gave me away?" Kurt asked rhetorically. "Have you been up since you sent that text at 8:00?"

"Yeah. Totally buzzed on coffee by now. I'll be up all day now and crash early tonight."

Kurt stretched again, trying to ignore the tenting of his soft stretchy pants. He got up and walked into the bathroom to inspect his face in the mirror, casting about for something neutral to say. "So what are your plans for today?"

"Actually, been wondering what _your_ plans are."

"Carole was up when I came in last night, she couldn't sleep. She said we should go back to Beaufort today, so I can see it in the daylight. I feel like I should spend the day with them, since I skipped out last night."

"Right. I understand." There was no mistaking the disappointment in his voice. "So are you still planning to bring them tonight? I'll see all of you then."

"Actually, Carole mentioned that maybe you'd like to go to Beaufort with us, and play tour guide? How would you feel about that?" The tile floor was cold against his feet, and Kurt shivered a little.

"I'd love to!" The response was immediate, and his breath quickened again at the enthusiasm in Blaine's voice. "What time? Should I meet you in Beaufort or pick you up at the beach?"

Kurt laughed, despite his growing discomfort. He really needed to get off the phone so he could deal with it. "Blaine, I just woke up." He drew on his acting experience to sound casual. "Give me a little time to get awake, and talk to my parents and be sure that's still the plan, and I'll call you back."

"Oh, right. Go get awake then, and call me back."

Kurt hung up and got a quick shower, feeling rather stale as he stepped in. He needed the hot water to wake him up and refresh him. And thaw out his toes. And if he took care of certain other bodily needs in addition to hygiene, well….he was just making sure he started the day fresh and focused.

He found his parents on the back deck again, enjoying the ocean view.

"Good morning," he greeted. The smell of the ocean and cawing of the birds on the beach were starting to feel familiar to him, waking his senses in ways the shower hadn't.

"Good morning, Kurt," Carole returned, and he relaxed when her smile seemed genuine.

"Barely morning," was his dad's version of hello. "About time you got up, thought you were gonna sleep the day away. How late were you out last night?"

"Late." Kurt didn't like the way his dad was looking at him. "What's the deal, dad? You're the one who told me to go out and have fun last night."

"I did," he conceded, looking like the admission cost him. "I just thought we'd get you back this morning, that's all. You're only here for a few days, Kurt, it's your first time visiting with us in months, and you've spent more time with this guy you met on the beach than you have with us." He slumped back against his seat again, glaring at the waves with his jaw clenched. Kurt could see the tension in every line of his body, and guilt started to gnaw.

"Burt…" Carole laid a hand on her husband's arm.

Kurt sighed, sliding the door the rest of the way closed and crossing the deck to take a seat facing his dad. It was too damn early for this, even if it was midday. He'd just woken up and hadn't even had coffee yet, therefore it was too damn early. But he didn't want to fight with his dad, so he swallowed his annoyance.

"You're right, Dad. I haven't spent much time with you two, and I'm sorry for that."

"I suppose this guy is more interesting to you."

"His name is Blaine, Dad. And if you're thinking I've been ignoring you for a hook-up, you're wrong. You want to know what Blaine and I did last night? I listened to him play music with his cousin at a restaurant in Beaufort, then we went back to Blaine's place and talked. Just talked, till three o'clock in the morning. Then I came home to sleep."

"I saw him come in, honey. And I didn't mind that he went out, it wasn't like we were exactly fun to be around last night," Carole said.

"What do you mean, you saw him come in?" He sat up, attention sharp on his wife. "You were up at that hour? Why didn't you wake me?"

"There was no need to wake you up, I was just awake in the middle of the night because I fell asleep so early the night before. I wanted to sit by myself for a while in the quiet, so I did…then Kurt came in and we had a nice talk, till we were both ready for bed again."

"You're sure you're okay?" Burt pressed.

She nodded, including both Hummel men in her gaze. "I really am," she smiled. "The sunshine and blue sky and ocean breeze, they do wonders for the mood. I'm glad we came here this week, Burt. It really is helping."

"Good." He leaned forward to kiss her and Kurt found himself wondering, again, what it would be like to be with the same person for years, to have the ease of familiarity, that security of knowing you could always depend on that one person. He'd never known it, but more and more he found himself wanting it.

"Now, honey," Carole said when Burt sat back, "Kurt and I were talking when he came in this morning and I suggested we might all go back to Beaufort today."

"That so?" Burt glanced at his son. "Well, that sounds like a good plan to me."

"Yeah, but Dad-" He was interrupted by Carole.

"And I also suggested that he invite Blaine to go along with us, to show us around."

The smile that had started to creep up Burt's face shut down abruptly.

"Did you already invite him?" he asked his son.

"Yeah, Dad, I did. He's waiting for me to confirm where we'll meet. And it would be rude to back out now."

"Burt, there's no reason why Blaine can't come along. You'll get to spend the day with Kurt like you wanted, but he can see Blaine too."

"I'd really like to spend the day with all three of you, Dad. And I want you to get to know Blaine. I think you'd like him." Anyone would like Blaine, Kurt thought. He was that sort of guy, everyone's best friend. Unlike Kurt himself. He knew he could be abrasive and stand-offish at times.

"Alright. Doesn't seem like I've got much choice, since everyone's making plans without consulting me."

"Kurt, why don't you go get some coffee, there's still some in the pot. And confirm details with Blaine and we'll leave soon, hmm?"

He nodded and went into the kitchen, noticing through the glass door as he closed it that Carole was leaning in, talking to his dad. Hopefully she could smooth his ruffled feathers a bit.

Given how late Kurt had slept, he decided he'd wait to eat till they met Blaine in Beaufort. They agreed to meet at the Dockhouse, since it was the only landmark in Beaufort that Kurt knew how to get to, and he pulled up with his parents just before 1:00. Blaine was waiting, straddling a stone bench under a tree and studying his phone.

"So there's the guy you've been blowing us off for," Burt grunted as he maneuvered into a parking spot. "Guess I should meet him."

"I thought you already did," Kurt answered, waving to Blaine through the window.

"Oh, he did. And he liked him just fine." Carole opened the passenger door, climbing down with the care taken by a short person exiting a tall truck.

"Well, when we met him on the beach that day, I didn't know you were already plotting to set him up with my son." He tugged the brim of his hat for emphasis, glaring at his wife.

"Okay, Dad, you can stop now," Kurt said pointedly. "I really like this guy, and he's headed this way, so be nice, hmm?"

Beaufort was a different place in the daylight. The sunlight reflected off the water, causing Kurt to pull his glasses from the top of his head to protect his eyes. The boardwalk was full with a steady stream of pedestrians going to and fro, but no one was in a particular hurry. They were just enjoying the sunshine and the breeze. Add in a few street performers and the vibe would be very similar to Washington Square Park on the first warm spring day.

Blaine walked up to the truck as Kurt got out, glad to stretch his legs after being crammed into the front—and only—seat of his dad's pickup truck. He gave Blaine a hug, which felt natural to both of them, and introduced his parents to his…friend. That was the word he decided on, a split second before he said it out loud. Even though they'd been on one date (two dates?), he didn't think 'boyfriend' was appropriate. 'Guy who I'd like to sleep with' wouldn't win him any points, so….friend it was.

"So where's a good place to eat around here?" he asked, not missing the way his dad's eyes were still assessing Kurt's 'friend.' Blaine seemed to be more casual today, in jeans and a polo shirt. His hair, though obviously styled, wasn't shellacked down into a helmet but curled in gentle waves, moving just slightly in the breeze.

"We hope you haven't had lunch yet, Blaine." Carole smiled warmly at them, and it lifted Kurt's spirits to see her obviously recovered from last night. "We'll be happy to treat you in return for your tour guide services. We haven't had lunch yet, and Kurt-"

"Hasn't had anything yet," Kurt finished. When Blaine gave him a 'really?' look, Kurt shrugged. "I didn't have a dog getting me out of bed at 8:00 am. And _someone_ kept me awake talking till after 2:00 am."

Blaine huffed a laugh, while from the corner of his eye Kurt watched the look exchanged between his dad and Carole. "Well, there are lots of restaurants in Beaufort, are you in the mood for anything in particular?" he asked. After some discussion they agreed on the Beaufort Grocery Company, just a few minutes' walk away according to Blaine. "It's that way," Blaine pointed diagonally across Front Street, away from the water. "But let's walk along the boardwalk, and I can start your tour on the way." He stepped over to Carole, offering his arm. "If I may escort you, milady?"

She giggled—actually giggled, which Kurt rarely heard her do—and took his arm. Kurt swatted Blaine's arm as they passed him. " _You_ ….are a _dork_." Blaine only grinned in response before returning his attention to Carole. Another newly-discovered side to Blaine Anderson….chivalrous dork extraordinaire. Kurt shook his head as he fell in behind them to walk with his dad.

"Oh," Blaine said, stopping suddenly under the flagpole. "Something most tourists don't realize….the nautical flags up there spell out 'B-E-A-U-F-O-R-T,' when read from top to bottom."

"A colorful way to spell," Carole commented, before they started walking again.

It only took a few steps to have them leaning against the boardwalk's rail, gazing across the water to another body of land as Blaine pointed.

"Right there, you can just see the head of one poking out behind that bush."

Kurt leaned forward and squinted to where he thought Blaine was pointing. 'Behind that bush' wasn't very helpful as there were lots of bushes.

"What am I looking for?" Burt asked, as a scruffy horse stepped into view.

"Oh my goodness, is that a mustang?" Carole stood taller on her toes, trying to get a better look. A smaller horse followed closely behind the first.

"Well, it's a wild horse, but we don't usually call them mustangs. We call 'em banker ponies. That's a mare and her foal, judging by how close they're staying to each other."

"So…is it a pony or a horse?" Kurt asked.

"Genetically, they're horses, but they're the size of ponies so they get called both."

"How'd they get over there? Get loose in town and swim over?" Burt seemed more engaged, propping one boot up on the railing to watch the pair across the channel. The mare grazed on a tuft of grass as her foal butted up against her side, dipping its head under to nurse.

"They're shipwreck survivors, actually. Well, descendants of shipwreck survivors. Their ancestors swam ashore from shipwrecked Spanish galleons centuries ago, and the horses have survived on the islands here ever since."

"I have to give them credit for tenacity," Kurt said. "I don't know much about horses, but I don't see much for them to eat over there. Can they really survive on that tough beach grass?"

Blaine shrugged. "They have so far."

Kurt clapped a hand to his stomach as he felt it rumble. "Well, I can't survive on marsh grass. Can we get to the restaurant, please?"

"Not our fault you slept through breakfast, pal." His dad clapped him on the back. "But I could do with some lunch myself."

Following Blaine's lead, they strolled down to the end of the boardwalk and crossed Front Street, going halfway down Queen Street to the restaurant on the left. Green awnings stood out against the clean white front of the building, with large windows offering a peek inside.

"This place is really popular," Blaine said as he held the door open. "But it's not the height of tourist season and we're near the end of the lunch hours, so hopefully we won't have to wait."

They were greeted at the door by a young woman wearing a T-shirt with the restaurant logo on it, who Blaine smiled at and called by name. She sat them by the window and handed them menus on clipboards before wishing them a good meal.

"So, Blaine…." Burt started, once they'd all perused the menu and ordered. Kurt had refrained from voicing his surprise that the unassuming little place offered quite a sophisticated menu. Burt ran a hand over his bald scalp, having removed his ever-present cap when he came inside, but his demeanor said he was now getting down to business. "Tell me what you do again?"

"I'm an elementary music teacher," he answered, looking caught off guard by the tone of the questioning. "I've been doing that for almost nine years now." He paused, but Burt only gave a 'hmm' in response. "And what do you do, sir?"

Burt sat back, draping one arm over the back of Carole's chair and drumming at the table with the other hand. "No need to call me sir. Burt will do."

"Ahh, right. Burt. Sorry, it's a Southern thing."

Kurt and Carole sat across from each other, watching this interplay between the two men with amusement. Burt asked Blaine several more questions which were answered politely, but when he asked about his parents, that's when Kurt stepped in, thinking that might be a sore topic for Blaine.

"All right, Dad, enough. Stop interrogating him like he's my first boyfriend, come to pick me up for my very first date. Blaine and I are friends, that's all."

"Is that what that was all about?" Blaine asked, wondering.

"Burt's always been a bit protective of his only son," Carole smiled. She looped her arm through her husband's and leaned into him. "But Kurt's right, honey, you can stop now. Kurt's not fifteen."

Burt only harrumphed, but patted his wife's hand and seemed to relax, sitting back in his seat.

Carole smiled brightly at Blaine. "So….where do you plan to take us, Blaine? We've never had a guided tour of Beaufort before."

After lunch—the rest of which went smoothly, once Burt gave up on his protective father act—they walked a few more blocks to a place called Hammock House.

As they approached, Blaine got out in front and started walking backwards, raising his voice as if speaking to a large crowd. "Can everyone hear me? You there in the back…raise your hand if you can hear me!"

Kurt, walking behind his parents, made a show of stopping and looking behind him to confirm he was the last one, before raising his hand.

"Okay, good! So we're at Hammock House, one of the oldest continuously standing residences in Beaufort. Now, that's saying quite a lot, considering that Beaufort itself is the third oldest town in all of North Carolina, and NC was one of the first colonies established in the New World.

"Who can tell me a one thing Beaufort is well known for?" He waited, but none of the trio in front of him spoke up. "No one? I'll tell you….." He paused for effect and leaned forward as if sharing a secret. "Pirates," he proclaimed in a loud stage whisper. "And this house was a favorite stopping point for the most famous pirate of all."

"Jack Sparrow?" Kurt asked, getting a chuckle from Carole and a _look_ from his dad. Blaine smothered a laugh before continuing his spiel.

"To the best of our local historians' knowledge, Captain Jack Sparrow never made it this far," Blaine said. "Much to Beaufort's loss. However, the most famous _real_ pirate of them all did come here. In fact, Beaufort was one of Blackbeard's favorite ports and he often stayed in this very house. It was a guesthouse back in those days."

"Really." Burt's polite interest turned into something more real. He studied the house before asking, "Can we go inside?"

"Unfortunately, no," Blaine answered. "The house is privately owned now and though the owners don't mind the tour buses turning around here or pedestrians standing out here like we're doing, the only time the house gets opened to the public is during the Old Homes Tour each year. But I can tell you a few interesting tales about this place. Local legend says there's a blood stain on the steps in there, that can't be washed away or covered. It's the result of an argument gone bad between two men. One of them thought the other had slept with his fiancée."

"Well, that's clearly just impossible," Kurt scoffed. "If you can't wash a stain away, you just paint over it."

"It's been tried. Multiple times over hundreds of years. The blood stain just seeps through again. I've seen it."

"When was that, Blaine?" Carole asked.

"Oh, back when I was a know-it-all teenager, my aunt and uncle took my cousins and me on the Old Homes Tour. They said it would be good for us to learn our local history. Of course, we were bored out of our minds, walking through house after house and getting lectures mostly on the furniture. We were on the verge of rebelling when the guide brought us here and started telling ghost stories. When the guide showed us the blood stain on the steps, it was the first time in the whole tour that we stopped complaining." Blaine chuckled at the memory.

"You said ghost stories, plural?" Carole asked.

"Oh yeah, three skeletons were found here during one of the renovations, buried in the back yard. They're assumed to be the bodies of three Union soldiers who left the docks one evening, saying they were heading back here where they were being lodged….then were never seen again. No one knows what happened that night or why they ended up buried in the back yard."

He chatted on for a few more minutes before suggesting they head back and he could show them a few other highlights of Beaufort.

"I had no idea there was so much history in this little town," Carole commented to Blaine as they walked back. "Burt and I have spent our vacations in this area for the past two years, but we rented a house at the beach and mostly stayed over there. We only came to Beaufort a couple times, to check out a restaurant we'd heard about or something else."

"Have you ever been to the Maritime Museum?" Blaine asked. When she shook her head, he said, "Oh, if you're interested in the maritime and pirate history of the town, you should go there. They have several artifacts from Queen Anne's Revenge in there."

"Blackbeard's ship?" Burt asked.

"Um-hmm. It was found in 1997 near Beaufort Inlet and they've been slowly bringing up artifacts from it ever since. Really big deal around here when the sunken ship was found. We finally know where Blackbeard's pirate career ended, even if not the details of how."

They walked on several blocks more as Blaine pointed out various features of the houses as they passed. Almost all of them had the wide front porches that Kurt thought of when he pictured Southern homes. Many had rocking chairs on the porch, accentuating the stereotype. Judging by the number of people out on the porches, enjoying the springtime afternoon and waving to them as they passed by, the rocking chairs weren't just for show.

The steps leading up to Manhattan apartment buildings weren't nearly such welcoming places to hang out and wave hello to passers-by, not that New Yorkers spent much time waving to perfect strangers. Now that he'd had something to eat, Kurt found himself feeling mellow, almost as if this small-town charm was actually sucking him in to its spell. He stepped aside to allow a double stroller to pass on the narrow sidewalk, while the mom pushing—talking on her phone—nodded thanks to him.

"So we're almost to the next thing I meant to show you," Blaine announced, bringing Kurt out of his reverie. "But it just occurred to me that I'm taking you on a bit of a ghost-stories tour of Beaufort, which may not be what you had in mind."

"What do you mean?" Burt asked.

"Well, I planned to show you the Old Burying Ground next," Blaine explained. "It has lots of history and I think it's an interesting place to walk through, but if old cemeteries aren't your thing, just say so." He waited, eyebrows raised.

Kurt and his dad both looked to Carole.

"Oh, who could be scared or sad on a beautiful day like this," Carole said, smiling at all of them. "Sounds interesting. Lead the way, Blaine."

A few moments later, when they stepped through an open gate and under the shade of bent and gnarled trees into a graveyard that had clearly been there for centuries, Kurt could see why it was considered a tourist attraction. From the corner of his eye, he saw his dad remove his cap and stuff it in his pocket.

"There are maps here," Blaine said softly, opening a metal box by the gate and pulling out two copies. "You can use the markers to show you which gravestone goes with the description." He pointed several feet away, where a small sign with the number two stuck out of the ground. He handed a map to Burt and Carole then stepped over to Kurt. "Wanna share a map?"

Kurt opened the brochure and studied the black-and-white map depicting the meandering paths of the cemetery, then around them at the headstones before closing the map. "Let's just wander," he suggested.

He walked in the opposite direction of the number one marker, where his parents were already bent over the map reading about whoever was buried there. He was sure there was a story to go with every grave marker here, but he wanted to soak up some atmosphere first. He strolled slowly down the dirt path between graves, stopping before one that was so old its engraving was worn almost away. He reached out, trailing his fingers over the stone, feeling just the barest impression of letters that still remained.

"The oldest grave marker that we can identify dates back to 1750," Blaine said beside him, just loudly enough to hear. "Local historians say we'll never know for sure which grave is the oldest."

"Is the cemetery still used for current burials?" Kurt asked, walking on.

"Not really, though there's one marker over there from 1980." Blaine pointed to the other side of the graveyard. "That's the newest headstone that I've seen, and I'm pretty sure that burial was an exception for modern times."

"Hmm," Kurt responded, just to show he was listening as he wandered. Many of the graves were mounded up above ground level and bricked over. There were large granite markers, still shining white enough in the sunshine filtering through the branches that he thought the descendants of the interred still lived in the area and maintained the grave. There were headstones falling over or broken, some taller than himself and some barely reaching his knee. One large tree had grown almost sideways, stopped from falling only by its contact with another tree and the wisteria vines wrapped around it. Kurt breathed in, letting the timelessness of it all settle into his lungs, before saying to Blaine, "This place feels like the setting for a Southern Gothic novel."

"Actually, it always reminds me of the cemetery scene from _The Phantom of the Opera_. The film version," he clarified. Kurt raised an eyebrow, inviting him to continue. Blaine chuckled. "Well, I know this place doesn't feel Parisian at all, but I came here for the first time not long after seeing the Phantom movie for the first time. And I guess it was just on my mind. I was almost waiting for Christine Daae to walk by me, singing. I guess the association just stuck."

Kurt nodded and kept walking. They were almost to the fence and he turned to meander toward the back of the burial grounds, but Blaine stopped him.

"C'mere, look at this one."

The small grave facing the outside edge of the cemetery was piled high with random objects….the expected flowers, but also small toys like matchstick cars and spinning tops, costume jewelry, pennies, even a tube of lip balm. Kurt saw a Dora the Explorer doll and a stuffed dinosaur.

"Who's buried here?" he asked, unable to take his eyes from the objects obviously left behind by many people over the course of years. The headstone, what he can see of it behind the offerings, looked illegible.

"We don't know her name, only that she accompanied her father on a trip to England and died on the return voyage. Her father wanted her buried here, so he bought a barrel of rum from the ship's captain and put her body inside for the rest of the journey. She was buried here, still in that rum barrel."

"Poor thing," Kurt murmured, looking up at Blaine. Over the other man's shoulder he saw his parents slowly approaching, stopping to look at another plot, checking their guide to match it with its story. "Oh crap." He pushed past Blaine to approach them. "Hey, are you two almost finished? I was just telling Blaine that I could use a bathroom." He looked over his shoulder at Blaine, who looked perplexed by didn't press for an explanation of Kurt's sudden change of mood.

"Back over where you parked, there are public restrooms right across the street. We've gone in almost a full circle from where we started, so we can be back there in five minutes if you're ready to go."

"I could use a bathroom myself," Carole said. "I'm glad Kurt said something."

They made their way back to the side where they'd entered, Kurt breathing a sigh of relief that he'd been able to waylay his parents so easily. He aimed a silent thanks to the back of Blaine's head, telling himself that he should offer a more audible thanks and explanation later.

"That's an interesting graveyard, Blaine. Thanks for showing it to us," Burt said as they exited the gates and he slipped his cap back on.

"You're welcome, sir. Glad you enjoyed it."

"Blaine, what did I say about calling me sir?"

"Sorry! It's a Southern thing!" Blaine laughed at himself as they crossed the road and walked up one short block to Front Street, which they also crossed. "Here you go." He pointed at the two doors of a small structure that clearly housed only the two restrooms. "They're maintained by the town, so they're usually clean and stocked."

Kurt went into the Men's and came out a couple moments later to find Blaine pointing across the street as he talked to Kurt's dad. "—pretty sure they're open till at least 5:00 this time of year, you guys should check it out."

"Kurt? You wanna check out the Maritime Museum while we're here?" Burt asked, as Blaine murmured an 'excuse me' and slipped into the bathroom.

He shrugged. "Sure, why not?"

"Blaine was saying that he can't stay any longer. He promised his family he'd pick up a few last minute things for this shindig they're planning tonight, so he needs to go do that. Said he'd give us directions to their house so we can come later."

"Oh, okay." He tried to conceal his disappointment. It was fun, having Blaine as a tour guide. He saw the way his dad was studying him and knew he hadn't been quick enough. Not for his dad. He knew him too well.

"I'm sure he wouldn't mind you riding along with him, if you wanted to go." Burt stuck his hands in his pockets. "Carole and I can do the tourist thing for a while longer and meet you later."

Kurt hesitated. "You wouldn't mind, Dad? You weren't wrong this morning, when you said that I haven't spent much time with you. I'm sorry about that."

"Eh, it's just a couple hours, Kurt. Besides, you and Carole are right about him. He's a nice guy," Burt conceded. "We'll see you both at the oyster roast tonight, so go on with him if you want to go. We were cramped with three of us in the truck anyway."

"Thanks, Dad." He impulsively gave him a hug as Carole and Blaine both came out. After a quick conversation, Carole agreed to the plan and Blaine gave them the Evans' address and directions to their house. The older couple crossed the street to the museum, while Blaine rolled his shoulders back and released a long slow breath.

"Whew. Been a while since I've done the whole meet-the-parents thing."

"Sorry about my dad." Kurt stepped closer, reaching down a hand for Blaine's. "He was getting a little annoyed this morning that I've spent so much time with you. But I think it helped that you all got to know each other today."

"Did I pass inspection?" Blaine asked, actually looking worried.

"I think so," Kurt laughed. "And hey, tonight you get to introduce me to your aunt and uncle. The tables will be turned. Something to look forward to?" He swung their joined hands between them playfully.

"Oh, don't worry about them, they're laid back." Blaine started walking down the boardwalk again, tugging Kurt along with him. "I'm parked at the other end, if you're ready." They hadn't made it past the first building before Blaine stopped again. "Oh, look. The bikes weren't here earlier, there must have been a tour group out. You might like the license plates."

Kurt looked, and grinned. Locked into a bike rack adjacent to the boardwalk, four bikes stood in a row, their plates reading from left to right: PARSLEY, SAGE, ROSEMARY, THYME. He started humming as they strolled on, and Blaine immediately hummed along.

 _Remember me to one who lived there_

 _He once was a true love of mine._

* * *

 **A/N: If you look on my Tumblr (I'm whitesheepcbd on there as well), I posted a video showing how to make the Monkey Bread. Also, a picture set that accompanies this chapter will be posted on Tumblr soon after this chapter is posted there.**


	8. Chapter 8

A few minutes outside of Beaufort, Blaine turned right next to a gas station and kept driving with the road now only a narrow strip of modern world between water on either side. Kurt looked out his window at the ripple of the water in the moonlight, and the outlines of houses on the opposite shore.

"This is North River," Blaine commented. "We're about to go over North River Bridge and when we do, over on our left will be the Evans clam lease. Sam and I spent a lot of time out there in the summer, digging for clams."

The car bumped up on a barely discernable incline and Kurt realized they were on a bridge only because of the railing on either side. The bridge didn't seem to be any higher than the road, and the water on either side didn't seem to be any further away than when they were driving on land. He looked over to the left, to where Blaine was pointing.

"If you look closely, in the moonlight, you can see a little shack there. Sam's dad built that when he was experimenting with aquaculture, and didn't want anyone to steal his seed clams. So he'd sleep out there on a few random nights and let people know he was watching from there."

"Umm….I'm afraid to ask, but why would anyone want to steal clams? And why were you and Sam out there digging them up?"

Blaine huffed out a laugh, like Kurt was missing something so obvious. "To sell, of course. Many of the families that live Down East still make their living from the water." He turned left onto a small back road.

"Oh, ok. I knew you said Sam's family were fishermen, but I figured they caught, you know…fish." He repressed an internal shudder at the idea of spending his days surrounded by smelly fish, wading through mud and salt water, subjecting his complexion to the unforgiving elements…no thank you. He'd take an air-conditioned rehearsal studio over that, any day.

"Well, they do, but also shellfish like clams and oysters, and their main product is shrimp." They were coming to the end of the road, with a sign stating "State Maintenance Ends." Looking ahead, Kurt could see little more than a dirt track with trees and bushes pressing in from either side.

"Uh, Blaine? Stop for a second." The car slowed to a halt, and Blaine looked over, head tilted in question. "It's not that I don't trust you, but you've brought me to the very end of a dead end road and that"—he pointed to the dirt lane— "looks like the beginning of a horror movie. And I am not being cast in the role of the naïve teenage virgin who goes down into the cellar. Or down the creepy dirt road."

Blaine snorted his derision. "Well, good thing we're not going down there then."

"We're not? But where then?" He looked around. There was the ominous dirt path directly ahead, and one small house to their right, the last one before the pavement ended, but the house was dark. Blaine had said this event was a sort of party, and there was clearly no party happening at that house tonight.

Blaine put the car in drive and turned it left, so the headlights shone down another dirt track, not as choked in by greenery but still leading to nowhere good that Kurt could see.

"We're going down _this_ creepy road," Blaine announced, rolling the car slowly forward.

"Oh, wonderful. This is _so_ much better."

Blaine laughed. "Relax. There's a house down there, I promise, that is inhabited by a very nice family and no axe murderers wandering the woods. That I know of."

He was weaving from one side of the road to the other as he drove, and Kurt realized that he was avoiding the potholes in the dirt path. They went around a curve and now he could see the house up ahead, lit up like a beacon in the night.

"Oh thank goodness. There _are_ signs of life back here." He relaxed a fraction, then jumped in his seat when a pack of dogs came out of the dark, running directly at the car and barking loud enough to wake up that axe murderer that wasn't lurking in the woods. Merida, who they'd picked up at Blaine's cottage, barked loudly in reply from her spot in back of the truck.

Blaine just laughed as he pulled into the yard slowly, giving the dogs time to move out of his way, and parked next to several other vehicles. Getting out, he waved a hand toward the house. "Told you. Perfectly nice house, lived in by perfectly nice people." He bent down to pet the dogs who crowded around his legs and waved to Sam, who was coming down the stairs and calling the pack away. There was a screech of nails on metal as Merida jumped down and joined the fray.

"Well, it felt like you were driving me to the end of the world!" Kurt defended, unbuckling his seat belt but waiting for the strange animals to get a little further away before getting out of the car. He was a city guy now. He didn't walk any further than a block without seeing a subway station or taxi or city bus. "And then that pack of dogs came running at us….is it safe to get out?"

Blaine bent down to look at him through his open door. "Yes, it's safe," he laughed. "If I wanted to take you to the end of the world, we'd have to drive about another forty-five minutes, to the ferry at Cedar Island."

"Better known as Skeeter Island," Sam drawled, also leaning in to look at him. "I put the dogs under the house, you can come out now."

"Under the house?" Kurt got out and for the first time took a close look, realizing the house was set on stilts, like the houses at the beach. The area under the house was enclosed with a half wall and screens on the remaining area, and he could hear the dogs whining to be let out from the enclosure. He walked around the car and held a hand out to Sam, who he got the impression didn't like him much for some reason, so Kurt didn't want to give him any reason to think worse of him.

"Hi, Sam. Good to see you again." They shook hands, but it felt perfunctory. Kurt groped for something to say. "So the end of the world is at Skeeter Island? Why is it called that?"

"Because of the mo-skeet-os," he exaggerated the pronunciation, leaning back against Blaine's truck. He tossed his over-long bangs out of his eyes.

"Lovely. Remind me _not_ to go there." Mosquito bites on his pale skin always made him look like he had some sort of skin infection. Then again, if he were bit multiple times, he could always guilt Blaine into helping him apply anti-itch cream.

"We have a few around here too, even this early in the season. But the fire will keep most of them away." Sam gestured to the fire in the yard a short distance away, with benches and chairs set around it. "A couple months from now will be a different story, you'll hardly be able to set foot outside without being mommicked with them."

"I suppose it's good I'm visiting now, then." Kurt smoothed down his jacket, taking in the yard as a whole. Pickup trucks and vans seemed to be the preferred vehicle of the several parked by the steps leading up to the house's entrances. There were porches on the front and back, surely because of the 'mo-skeet-os' and a black cat prowled the railing above them. On the other side of the yard, beyond the fire, several sheds of unknown use hunched in the shadows. "I take it we're going to be doing this outside, then?"

"The local fire department takes a dim view of people lighting fires inside, so yeah," Sam answered, exchanging a look with Blaine, as if silently asking what sort of idiot he'd brought to their family gathering.

"I've never been to an oyster roast before, what do we do?" Kurt tried again to start an amicable conversation.

"Roast oysters," they answered in unison, Blaine with a fond humor and Sam with exasperation. Kurt fought not to roll his eyes. It was a valid question.

"And eat other food, and drink beer, and sit around and talk. Just socialize and be friendly, that's all," Blaine added.

"Alright," Kurt said, as headlights appeared around the curve in the dirt road and his dad's truck appeared, easing slowly into the yard and setting off the dogs into another frenzy of barking. Sam pushed himself upright and gestured like an air traffic controller, directing Burt to park at the far end of the row of vehicles.

"Kurt! Glad we found you." Carole came around the end of the truck as the engine died. "Though I have to admit, I thought the GPS was leading us astray when it told us to turn down that dirt road."

"He thought I was driving him onto a horror movie set." Blaine elbowed Kurt in the ribs.

"Well, it _is_ isolated back here," Carole commented, looking around. She reached out a hand for her husband as he got out of his truck.

"Just the way we like it." Sam held out a hand to Burt, then Carole as Blaine made introductions. "Sam Evans. Welcome to my parents' house, my childhood home, and tonight it's the best place in the whole county to get fresh oysters."

"Sounds good to me," Burt responded.

"Sam! Blaine! Come help carry stuff down!" called a voice from the stairs. A teenage girl with straight blonde hair was coming down the steps, one plate in each hand. "Mom says to come get the cooler."

"You guys go sit," Sam waved to the chairs arranged around the smoldering fire. "Won't take us long to bring everything down."

"Can we help?" Kurt asked.

"Don't be silly, you're guests." Blaine waved them off as well and headed up the stairs with Sam. "Be right back."

The chairs by the fire were a combination of plastic lawn chairs and wooden benches that had seen better days, all of them tilting a bit as their legs sank into the soft earth. Kurt had the urge to put down a towel or something before sitting but restrained himself. At least he'd worn dark jeans.

The teenager, who must be one of the younger cousins Blaine had mentioned, set her plates down on a weathered picnic table before turning to them. "Hi, ya'll. I'm Stacy." They introduced themselves as she eyed Kurt with a small smile. "So you're the guy Blaine keeps going on about."

"He's not the only one," from Carole.

"Yeah, Kurt here came down to visit us and we've barely seen him. And when he is with us, he's talking about Blaine." He elbowed Kurt gently as he said it, showing that his earlier irritation was gone.

"Oh my God, Dad." Kurt tried to speak through his teeth without moving his lips. Wasn't he supposed to be immune to parental embarrassment past a certain age?

Stacy giggled. "I'll tell Blaine you said so." Her smile grew wider as she turned to walk away.

"Oh no, Stacy. Don't tell him that!"

"Kurt's dad says he talks about you all the time!" Stacy sing-songed as she passed Blaine at the bottom of the steps as he carried one end of a large cooler, the other end maneuvered by Sam.

Kurt hid his face in Carole's shoulder. "Shoot me now." He felt his dad's familiar pat on his shoulder, but didn't turn to him. Traitor.

"Buddy, I think any chance you had of playing it cool and hard to get disappeared the first day you met him," his dad's voice whispered.

Kurt emerged from his hiding spot when the increased chatter told him that others had joined them. That blond teenaged boy—on the verge of manhood—could only be Stevie. His face was a perfect mix of Sam's and Stacy's features.

Sam's dad introduced himself as Dwight, his face lined and weathered from long days working on the water in all kinds of weather. Sam's mother Mary had a kind of former beauty-queen attractiveness, faded but still enough to put a glimmer in her eyes. They had that same peculiar accent he'd noticed when he first met Sam last night, but even more pronounced, as if the speech had been diluted by the time it got to the next generation. He had to focus closely to understand what they were saying.

"I'm glad you folks arrived early," Mary said to them warmly. "There are others arriving later, but it'll be nice to get to know you a bit before the party gets too crazy. We have appetizers over here, so ya'll feel free to help yourselves till we get the first batch of oysters ready."

They weren't cooked yet? Kurt wondered, as he and his parents followed Mary over to the table and she pointed out some of the same dishes Blaine had brought to their picnic. They must be the family specialties.

"You're going to want to try that, and that, and that sauce over there is amazing," he told his parents, much to Mary's obvious delight. They each filled an appetizer-sized plastic plate and sat down again.

"I'm looking for some young backs to haul those oysters over here," Dwight announced, looking pointedly at his sons. They went over to the house, walking through a screen door to access the storage area underneath, releasing the pack of rambunctious dogs. They came out barking joyfully, running over each other in their hurry. One of the larger dogs actually jumped a smaller one as it barreled toward the fire and the people seated around it.

Kurt tensed as the animals swarmed around him and his parents, each of them wanting to sniff the newcomers. He held his plate up high. They better not shed on his pants, they were only jeans but he did not want to be picking hairs off them tonight.

"You've met the people, let me introduce you to the four-legged members of the family," Mary said with a smile, as Kurt leaned back from the inquisitive noses. Dad and Carole were both petting the dogs enthusiastically with their one free hand. He didn't know where their ease came from…neither of them had owned a dog as long as he'd known them. "That Golden Retriever there is Lizzie, the brindle Plott Hound is Brandy, the smaller blond one is Millie. She's a pound puppy so we don't know her breed. The Irish Wolfhound is Merida, in case you haven't met. She's Blaine's. And that fat little one there is Frodo, he's a Jack Russell terrier."

Kurt now knew more about the pedigrees of the dogs at this party than he did about the people. Did everyone in this county own a dog? He counted quickly and realized that yes, there was a dog for each member of the Evans family. He leaned back even further as one of them nosed up his leg…was that Brandy or Lizzie? Or Campbell or Skylar or some other cheerleader-sounding name? He was contemplating an escape over the back of the rickety bench when Blaine came to his rescue, with a grin at Kurt's discomfort that he'd pay for later.

"Enough!" Blaine said sternly, wading into the middle of the wagging tails and lolling tongues. "Leave my guests alone, go on, go!" He pulled on collars and smacked lightly on the dogs' sides till they backed away, turning with one last swish of someone's tail over Kurt's knees. "Better?" he asked, still grinning at Kurt.

"Much." He brushed at his clothes, sending Blaine a mock glare while his parents chuckled on either side of him.

"The food is worth it, I promise."

"Oh, definitely," Carole said. "Can I get the recipe for this sauce?"

Kurt started to answer, but Blaine leaned in to whisper to her, "Family secret."

"I can see why." Burt dipped another shrimp in the sauce and tossed it in his mouth.

"When the oysters get cooked, the sauce goes really well with them too," Stacy told them. "Even plain old saltine crackers are awesome if you put enough sauce on them."

"Alright, time to get these started!" Dwight announced, as a large basket of oysters were deposited by the fire. "Boys, if you would."

Without further prompting from their father, Sam and Stevie picked up a metal frame standing on its end in the dirt, and turned it around, placing it over the fire as a grill. Oyster shells were tossed on it before Mary asked the Hummels what they wanted to drink and pulled cans from one of the many coolers scattered around. For the next half hour they all sat around the smoky fire and chatted, making introductory small talk and munching appetizers while the oyster shells spit and slowly began to crack open.

"I hope this isn't a rude question to ask," Kurt said after listening to the Evans family talk for a while, "but I'm wondering about your accents."

"What about 'em?" Sam asked. Kurt hesitated at the look of challenge from the other man, but pressed on.

"Well, I noticed it when Blaine introduced us last night, Sam. Your accent is different than any other Southern accent I've ever heard. And now that I meet your family," he nodded to the rest of the Evans, "I realize you all speak that way. But you don't," that last aimed at Blaine.

Blaine was smiling to himself, but only answered, "No. I started living here too late, I guess."

"What you're hearing, honey," Mary answered, "Is what we call the Down East Brogue."

"And it sounds different from that generic Southern accent you hear in the movies, because it is different," Dwight added. "Ain't never heard anybody from anywhere else talk quite like we do."

"You're right. But at the same time…" Kurt trailed off, not sure how to say it. "I feel like there's something familiar about it."

Stacy spoke up, leaning toward Kurt as she asked, "Do you like old movie musicals?"

"I love them," he answered with a smile, wondering about her change of topic.

"See if this helps," she said with a grin, and sang, _"All I want is a room somewhere, far away from the cold night air."_ She had a light, clear soprano, and her Cockney accent was spot on.

Kurt gasped in recognition. "That's it! You all sound like Eliza Doolittle!"

"Who?" Stevie asked, as everyone else laughed at Kurt's reaction.

"Have I taught you nothing?" Stacy asked her brother in exasperation.

"I mean, not exactly like Eliza," Kurt amended, trying to mentally replay Audrey Hepburn's lines from the movie and then the Evans' speech patterns from this evening. "It's like a mixture of the Cockney and Southern accents, maybe?"

"You're close," Blaine said. "I actually talked to a linguist at ECU once, who'd studied the Down East Brogue. The accent here is descended from the Cockney accent in England. And families here were isolated for generations, cut off from the mainland by water, before bridges were built and transportation routes improved. That enabled the accent to stay very pure, protected from any outside influences."

"But it's not isolated anymore," Carole commented.

"Nope," Dwight shook his head. "Which is why the accent isn't as strong as it once was, and the local traditions are dying too. A couple generations ago, just about everyone here made their living from the water, or they were farmers. Now most of the kids leave to live and work elsewhere, and there're just a few diehards like me left, too stubborn to give it up."

"We can't all be fishermen, Dad," Stacy said, her tone saying they'd had this conversation before.

"We know that, honey. We just hate to see our kids leave, that's all." Mary gave her daughter a hug.

"Well, I'm not leaving," Stevie announced. "Not permanently, I mean. I'm coming back as soon as I get my degree, and we're gonna start being a different kind of fishermen, right Dad?"

Dwight nodded, smiling at his younger son. "Stevie here is studying marine biology and the latest aquaculture techniques. I dabbled in it before, but didn't really know what I was doing. When he comes home, we'll start raising the seafood instead of just going out there to catch it."

"Kind of like being a farmer, but on the water?" Burt asked.

"Exactly."

Kurt didn't know what to respond to that, exactly. Good luck? Don't get eaten by sharks while you're out there raising your sea crops? He didn't know enough about making one's living from the water to comment. He turned back to Stacy instead.

"What about you? Sounds like you don't plan to be a fisher-woman, what do you want to do?"

"Well, I've applied-" She was cut off by a loud popping from one of the oysters, followed by a sizzling as liquid dripped from the open shell down into the fire to immediately evaporate.

"Looks like these are done!" Sam announced, flipping a couple of them with tongs. "Oh yeah. Time to eat!"

Dwight produced a stack of thick gloves that looked like gardening gloves, and several strange-looking knives with short, blunt blades, and passed them around.

"Nope, you only need one," he said to Burt when he tried to take two gloves. "Never opened your own oysters before, I take it?"

"Uh, no." Burt took one for himself and passed one each to Carole and Kurt. They were each handed a knife as well.

"Don't worry, you'll be a pro in no time. So you put a glove on one hand, and that's the hand you hold the oyster shell in. If you're right-handed, you'll want the glove on your left hand. It'll protect you from the heat and the sharp edges."

Kurt slid his glove on gingerly. It was old and clearly well-used, and smelled of something. Not an unpleasant smell really, but not one he normally associated with gardening gloves. It was….salty, maybe?

"It's okay, Kurt. You don't have to look like you're about to get food poisoning." Blaine stood at his side, sliding his own glove on easily.

"They do look a little….dirty," he said.

"But they never touch the food," Blaine assured him. "Only the shell. Now listen, Dwight's gonna show you how to open them."

"So you want the ones that are cracked open a little bit, that means they're definitely cooked enough."

"Not cooked at all is cooked enough," Sam interjected. "Nothin' better'n a raw oyster, straight outta the river."

"Not everyone appreciates raw seafood, honey. Don't scare the landlubbers." His mother swatted him, which he ignored.

"Just saying, that's all." Sam opened the shell in his hand with a flick of his wrist, prying back the top half of the bivalve and tossing it in a green bucket by the fire. "Shells go in there," he told them, before scooping the exposed oyster onto his knife and dropping it in his mouth. His eyes closed as he chewed, to better appreciate his mouthful it seemed, then he opened his eyes to find the Hummels watching him. "Best food in the world," he exclaimed as he tossed the other half of the shell in the bucket and reached for another.

"Done with your foodgasm, Sammy? 'Cause I think Dad was trying to show our guests how to open their oysters," Stevie said.

"Just showed 'em," Sam replied unapologetically, quickly opening another shell.

"Looks like I better show ya'll fast, or Sam there will have them all eaten before you've gotten to your first one," Dwight said. He moved closer, oyster in one hand and knife in the other. "Look close, now. You just saw Sam do it, but I'll show you a little closer. You just put the knife in where the shell's cracked open, and slide up as close as you can to where it hinges. Then you twist the knife, and it'll come open." The top half flipped off and fell to the ground, Dwight paying no heed to where it landed. One of the dogs darted in and grabbed the shell, running off with it.

Kurt leaned closer to look. He knew what an oyster looked like, he'd had plenty in NY restaurants. But they were always presented just so, looking squeaky clean even when still on their half shell. This one had a bit of grit at the hinge, where Dwight had opened it, and the meat of the shellfish itself was slightly darker than he was used to. And next to the oyster was a….Kurt squinted at it in the dim light from the fire, but couldn't identify the orangish-pinkish, somewhat ball-shaped thing nestled in the shell beside the seafood.

"What is that?" he asked finally, pointing without getting too close.

"Jus' a bitty oyster crab. Here, try it." Dwight scooped the morsel onto the end of his knife and held it out to Kurt.

He looked at the crab, which he could now see had legs sticking out every which way from the circular shape, and back at the man holding it out to him expectantly.

"Umm….try what? What am I supposed to do with it?"

Dwight chuckled. "Y'eat it, a' course."

Kurt looked at him, then at his parents who stood beside him, also looking at a loss. "Umm…no thank you?"

He got an inelegant snort in response. "Stevie!" he called, turning to look across the fire. "Crab!"

"Great! I haven't found one yet." Stevie slurped an oyster straight from the end of the shell and chewed as he crossed to his dad, simply opening his mouth and letting Dwight tilt the morsel in. "Thanks, Dad." He turned back to the grill, getting another partially open shell without further comment.

"Stevie and Stacy used to fight over the oyster crabs when they were little," Mary said from the other side of Carole. The Hummels turned to look at her. "And I mean, _fight_. We had to institute a taking-turns policy, and no one else at the fire could eat any crab they found, they all had to go to the two little ones. They'd keep track of how many each of them ate, and heaven help us all if their number wasn't equal at the end of the night." She looked at her two younger children fondly across the glow of the fire.

"So it was Stevie's turn, I guess?" Carole asked.

"Oh, they outgrew it, thank God." Dwight was opening another shell. "Couple years ago, Stacy decided she didn't want to eat them anymore, but they'd stopped the fighting even before that."

"Too many legs!" Stacy called across. "I got some stuck in my teeth once and it took me two days to get those stupid legs out of my teeth. I had braces, guys! I couldn't go to the orthodontist with legs stuck in my braces!" she exclaimed, making everyone laugh. She shrugged. "Haven't eaten them since."

"Alright, your turn." Mary was picking up an oyster from the grill with her one gloved hand, holding it out to the Hummels. "Who's first?"

None of them moved for a moment, before Kurt realized that Blaine was watching him, waiting for his reaction. He held out his covered left hand for the hot shell, and adjusted the thick rounded handle of his oyster knife in his right, trying to find a grip that felt comfortable. He started to insert it but hesitated when he realized that this oyster wasn't as open as the one Dwight had demonstrated on.

"It's not brain surgery, Kurt." Blaine was next to him, reaching out to cup Kurt's left hand in his, then wrapping his other hand over Kurt's on the knife. "Worst things that can happen are, you cut into the oyster, in which case it'll be mangled but still taste just as good, or you lose your grip and drop the oyster, in which case you make one of the dogs very happy."

"They eat them?" Carole asked. She and Burt now held their own oysters but hadn't tried to open them yet.

"Oh yeah. Look." Blaine nodded to where the three biggest dogs were crowded around the bucket of discarded shells, dipping their heads in and coming out with their prize which they dropped on the ground to lick. "They like to lick the juice and any remaining meat out of the shells, but if you drop an entire oyster on the ground you'll make their night."

"We used to have a Chesapeake Retriever, that liked 'em so much we named him Oyster," Dwight told them. "He'd go out in the river with us and actually find them for us, dip his head all the way underwater and come out with a cluster of oysters. He'd do that all day, as long as you rewarded him once in a while by opening one and lettin' him eat it raw off the shell. Damndest thing I ever saw."

"So really, there are no bad outcomes here." Blaine directed Kurt's hand to slip the blade into the gap between the two halves, slid it up toward the hinge, and twisted. He caught the top half as it fell and tossed it to the smaller blonde dog, who nosed it where it fell in the dirt and started to lick. "Now use the blade to cut the muscle that connects the meat to the shell," he slipped the blade beneath, demonstrating as he spoke, "and you're ready to eat."

He looked up at Blaine, who was grinning in anticipation of his reaction, and over his shoulder saw Sam watching him from across the fire. He wasn't smiling. He waited for Kurt's reaction with a near-scowl on his face, silently daring him to say he didn't like it. Kurt tipped the shell up and let the slippery delicacy slide into his mouth.

Oh, wow. _That_ was salty. Kurt chewed carefully, letting the sweet briny taste coat his mouth. "Mmm," he hummed, without really meaning to, and opened his eyes (when did he close them?) to see Blaine looking at him still, but with a different kind of expectation now. His eyes had gone darker, his body tense….

A throat cleared loudly next to them, and Kurt came out of his daze, looking over at his parents. His dad's shrewd gaze flicked between Blaine and himself.

"Well, how'd it taste?" Carole prompted him.

"Delicious," Kurt smiled, and turned to throw his shell into the bucket. He met Sam's gaze as he straightened, and said louder, "I think I'll have another."

He took another shell at random from the grill, hearing Blaine behind him, offering to help Carole open hers. Faking more confidence than he felt, he inserted the blade, slid it up and twisted, let the top half fall and then slurped the meat straight from the shell. Juice dribbled down his chin, which he quickly wiped away before it could fall on his shirt.

"These are so much better than I've ever had in the city," he said to Mary and Dwight, who stood closest.

"That's because they're fresher," Mary said.

"Eat up, all of you," Dwight encouraged. "We have another basket of 'em under the house, and we can always get more."

Sam chugged his beer and turned away, sitting in a plastic lawn chair with his legs sprawled out, looking relaxed….but Kurt could still feel himself being watched as he took another oyster and turned back to Blaine and his parents.

"So what do you guys do, when you're not on vacation here?" Sam's mom asked, a full hour after the Hummels got their first oyster-opening lesson. Everyone had eaten their fill of oysters and crackers. The fire had burned down to embers and everyone sat around, sipping their drinks slowly and chatting. Even the dogs had settled down, spread out around the fire and between the chairs, feet on paws and dozing.

"Well, I own a garage in Ohio, I fix cars. My wife here is a nurse. You get sick in Ohio, you can only hope you'll get someone as good as her taking care of you. And my son here, he's a big Broadway star."

"Really?" Stacy stared at Kurt. "You perform on Broadway?"

"I'm not a star," Kurt clarified, nonetheless feeling the warmth inside that his dad called him a star. Stacy was staring at him with an intensity that was disturbingly reminiscent of Rachel. "But yes, I work on Broadway."

"Oh my God!" she shrieked. "Oh, I have so many questions! I'm going to New York next year to study acting!"

"You are?" was the shocked chorus from her family.

"Uh, yeah." A multitude of expressions crossed her face, pride, joy, embarrassment, shock, maybe a bit of fear. She confessed to them, "I got my acceptance letter today. I'm going to AMDA." She looked on the verge of tears from sheer surplus of emotion.

"Congratulations, Stacy!" Kurt said sincerely. "AMDA is a great school. You'll get great theatre training there."

"Thanks," she said, but cut her eyes away from him toward her parents, and it was only then that Kurt realized everyone else at the fire was silent. "I, uh…didn't meant to tell you this way. I was going to tell you tomorrow. But Kurt mentioned New York and I just kind of blurted it out-"

"That's great, Stacy," Blaine said warmly, wrapping his younger cousin in a hug, and Kurt found himself wanting to switch places with her.

"Yeah, Sis, it's great you got in." Stevie stood, ready to give her a hug when Blaine stepped back. "But isn't it kinda far away?"

"My thoughts exactly," Sam said from his spot across the fire. He'd made no move to approach his sister or offer congratulations. "You sure you want to move there?"

"Getting into AMDA is very competitive," Kurt offered, even as he was thinking that he should probably be keeping his mouth shut. He wasn't sure what was going on here, but neither Sam nor her parents didn't look all that thrilled. Stacy's smile was fading. "So if Stacy got accepted there, she must be super talented."

"Of course, we're proud of you for getting accepted," Mary said at last, breaking the awkward silence that had frozen her, Dwight and Sam at Stacy's proclamation. She moved over and gave her daughter a hug, and Kurt could see the girl's shoulders slump in relief. "We're just surprised, that's all. We thought you'd decided to go to ECU?"

"Well, I would go there if I didn't get accepted anywhere else, but I did, Mama. AMDA is so much better than ECU, it's in New York. It's not just about the school, but the city too. I can learn so much more about theatre there, right Kurt?" She looked at him, silently asking for support.

"I went to performing arts school in Manhattan, and it's…." He hesitated, wondering how to encompass everything New York could be into an elevator sales pitch that would sway uncertain parents. "It's like the entire city is your classroom. If Stacy is serious about a career in theatre, there's no other place on the planet that can give her what New York can."

"See?" Stacy said as her dad came up to give her a hug.

"Congratulations on getting accepted there, pumpkin," he said, stroking back her hair. "Why don't we enjoy the party tonight, and we'll all sit down and talk about it tomorrow."

"Okay," she agreed, though it looked as though it pained her to let it drop, even temporarily. Her eyes flicked past her parents as they turned away, and Kurt turned to follow her gaze.

Sam, standing on the other side of the fire with a forgotten beer in his hand. He stared back at his sister, then, as if he could feel the additional eyes on him, switched his focus to Kurt. He crunched the can he held into a nearly flat circle and tossed it into a trash can as he walked past them both on his way to the house.

"Sammy-" Stacy entreated to his retreating back.

"Let him go, honey." Mary still had an arm around her daughter. "We'll all sit down and talk about it tomorrow, okay?" She gave a meaningful look toward their guests. Stacy followed her gaze and focused on Kurt.

"Kurt, umm….would you mind answering some questions?"

For the next hour he fielded questions about attending drama school, finding discount tickets for Broadway shows, where to live in the city, using the subway, and a thousand other topics that he knew he'd obsessed over himself at one time. But he'd been in the city so long now, that living there was second nature.

He looked around the fire to see other conversations going on in pairs and small groups. At one point his dad got up to look under the hood of Dwight's pickup truck.

"I can't wait," Stacy's excited voice brought his attention back to her. "I mean, I've visited New York, but to live there, and go to school there, it's all I've wanted for years."

Kurt smiled, amused by her enthusiasm and feeling a pang of nostalgia for his younger self, who'd once been equally as impatient to conquer the big city.

"New York's great, and I wish you the best of luck. But…" He hesitated, reluctant to burst her bubble but feeling like it needed to be said. "It can also be overwhelming, and sometimes, when you've built it up in your head so much, you wake up one morning to realize that it's not the dream land you wanted."

Her face fell, and she glanced over to her parents. "That's what Mom and Dad keep saying. They keep asking me why I can't just go to ECU like Sam and Blaine did, there's a great musical theatre program there. They keep asking why I think New York is some kind of utopia, stuff like that."

Kurt laughed. "It's definitely _not_ utopia. If that's what you're expecting, you might be better off going to school close to home. But I don't think that's what you meant, is it?"

"No…I mean, I've been there. Just once, but it's not like I'm basing my expectations on postcards and movies set in New York. I know it's noisy and crowded and people aren't as polite as they are here, I know I'll have to adjust. But…when it comes to theatre, New York is just _it_ , y'know? It's the place to be!" She was so sincere in her attempt to convince him, then she seemed to remember who she was talking to. "Well, of course I don't have to tell you that, you're a part of it!"

"Yeah. Been a part of it for over a decade now. So let me tell you some of the things I've learned about living in the city, and working on Broadway, that the movies don't show you."

She nodded seriously, ready to listen.

"The movies don't show you the mundane day-to-day details of living in the city. They don't show that most budget apartment buildings don't have their own laundry, so you're stuck hauling your heavy laundry bag down three flights of stairs, down the street five blocks to the closest laundromat. Then waiting there with it while it's washing, so no one steals your stuff. Then hauling it all back."

She nodded again. He could almost see her taking mental notes.

"The movies make it look like everyone who arrives in the city meets their best friend within five minutes of stepping off the train at Penn Station, and let me tell you, that might be the biggest lie the movies tell you about New York. It can be a really lonely place, especially at first. Nothing lonelier than being friendless while surrounded by thousands of people. I never even got the full effect of it, since I moved there with a high school friend. We had each other, and I still got lonely at times, till I started to meet people and form a circle of friends."

"I have a few friends who applied to schools in New York as well. We're hoping we can all go together, so we'll have each other like you had someone." She glanced across the fire, to where her mother was now engrossed in conversation with Carole. "That's what I keep trying to tell my parents, they think I'm going to be attacked the minute I get there or something."

"That's a great plan," Kurt agreed. "But you should start thinking about whether you'd be willing to go by yourself. What if your friends don't get in to the schools they applied to up there, or they do but decide to go somewhere else?"

Her brows knit together like she hadn't considered that possibility.

"I'm not trying to tell you what to do, only asking you to consider all sides," he said. "New York is tough, Broadway is tough, and as someone who's been there and done that, I wouldn't recommend that any young person attempt what you're planning on a whim. Ask yourself why you're so dead-set on New York City as opposed to anywhere else."

He'd meant it as a rhetorical question, but her eyes lit up like she'd been just waiting for someone to ask her that question, and her answer tumbled out.

"I've been planning this since I was a sophomore. Once every few years, our choir director takes a group to New York during spring break. The year I went, we saw three shows and God, I'd never seen anything like that." She lit up with her enthusiasm, eyes focused not on him but something she clearly saw in her mind's eye, and in that moment he could see the Broadway ingénue she could become. "We saw two musicals and our last show was _War Horse_. Have you seen that?"

"Yeah, back when I first got to New York it was playing at the Lincoln Center. You must have seen the revival from a couple years ago."

"I was annoyed at first that we were seeing a play, because musicals are my thing and I wanted to see as many of those as possible…but I ended up loving it. I was crying by the end, I mean bawling like a baby kind of crying. And I realized, that I was crying over a puppet! I mean, seriously….the main character was a metal framework covered by papier-mâché and I was sobbing over it like I'd had to bury my favorite pet! How do they _do_ that?"

"Theatre magic," Kurt replied softly. "When it comes to magic, Hogwarts has nothing on Broadway."

"And I want to be a part of that," she said, sincere as only a starry-eyed dreamer can be.

"I wish you luck. When you get to the city, call me. Blaine has my number. I'll help you out in any way I can."

"I heard my name," Blaine said. He'd walked up behind Kurt without him noticing. "Stacy, are you hogging my date for the evening?" A little thrill went through Kurt at the word 'date'.

"Sorry, Blaine. Just couldn't help myself. It's not every day that I get to pump a real-life Broadway actor for information."

"I get it, Stace. But how about you let me have him back now?"

She heaved a sigh. "Fine. Thanks for talking with me, Kurt. And I'll be taking you up on that offer."

"Anytime, Stacy."

She wandered back over to join her mom and Carole, joining their conversation.

"Offer?" Blaine asked, one triangular eyebrow raised in query.

"I said she could get my phone number from you and I'd be happy to offer advice when she gets to New York."

"Oh God…you might regret that offer, Kurt."

He shook his head. "No, it's okay. I'll think of it as paying it forward."

"Do you want some more oysters?" Blaine asked.

"No, I think I'm good for now."

"Then how about a walk down to the shoreline? Get away from all this for a while? There's a path over there." He gestured, but all Kurt saw was a patch of darkness that was slightly less black than the rest of the darkness that formed the yard's parameter, pressing in at the edges of the firelight's glow.

Kurt looked at the forbidding darkness, and back at Blaine. "I think I'll stay where it's light, thanks."

"I already got a flashlight." He held it up. "And the dogs will go with us, they'll protect us from anything lurking in the woods. Promise." He clicked the light on. "Come on."

* * *

 **A/N: I chose to not attempt writing out the Down East Brogue, since I think it would have made the dialogue really difficult to read. However, if you're interested in hearing the accent, go to youtube and search for Core Sounders. You can watch a 2:37 minute trailer for a documentary, all about the fishermen in eastern Carteret County.**


	9. Chapter 9

The chatter of the party was fading behind them as Blaine swept the flashlight's beam from side to side across the path. Kurt stayed close by his side, not daring to let his feet stray too far from where Blaine's own feet were landing.

"Are you sure there are no snakes?" Kurt asked. "I don't do snakes. Not unless they're made into boots."

Blaine laughed. "It's a bit early in the season for snakes. And if there were any, the dogs would scare them off."

Merida trotted up to him, tail wagging, as if she knew she was being talked about. Blaine patted her briefly before she bounded off into the woods again to see what the other dogs were sniffing at or rolling in, or whatever trouble they were finding for themselves.

"You didn't tell me that your cousin was planning to go to school in New York," Kurt commented quietly.

"I was more concerned with getting to know the cute guy I just met on the beach," Blaine answered, smiling to himself in the dark. "And she only just got her acceptance letter today...though now that she sounds sure she's going, I'm sure I'll get an earful from her later. She'll demand to know why I didn't tell her you worked on Broadway."

"And why didn't you?" Kurt was smiling as well, Blaine could hear it.

"I didn't want her to do exactly what she did...steal you away the minute she found out." He nudged a friendly hip-bump in the dark.

"I didn't mind. I actually found it flattering."

"You didn't have to offer to help her in the city, you know. It was nice of you, but you might find yourself bombarded with texts day and night if you give her your phone number."

"Hmm. That occurred to me. But you know, I may have offered on impulse but I'm thinking about it now, and I really don't mind. I like the idea of mentoring someone through the same experience I had, and hopefully making it easier for them. Give her my number." Kurt found his hand in the dark and squeezed.

"Thanks," Blaine said. Having Kurt's hand in his felt right, in all kinds of ways. He cleared his throat. "I'll feel better about her being there next year if I know you're looking out for her. And I know Mary and Dwight will too. Might help to convince them to let her go."

"I get the impression that might be an uphill battle."

"Yeah."

Blaine looped his arm through Kurt's, trying to reassure him while walking down a strange trail in the dark, and made sure to keep scanning the flashlight back and forth in front of them.

He shouldn't have been taken by surprise by Stacy's announcement. Lord knows she had talked enough about her hopes and ambitions for the following year. There was no one in the family who hadn't had to listen to her elaborate in great detail how great she thought it would be in New York. But somehow, it hadn't seemed real. He'd had similar dreams once, and they'd never come to fruition. So to see her bright eager young face, glowing with the excitement of everything that was in store….it was bittersweet.

"You got quiet," Kurt commented as they rounded a curve in the path. Blaine nudged him to one side so they could avoid a large mud puddle. Something small skittered across their path and Kurt stopped, focused on the possible danger.

"Relax, it's just a fiddler crab." Blaine shone the light on it, and the crab paused in its frantic sideways scuttle to raise one large claw in threat. Kurt bent closer and the crab waved its over-sized pincer at him.

"For something so small, it sure seems fierce," Kurt commented, sounding more amused than frightened now. "I thought you said the dogs would scare wild animals away."

"I said they would scare away snakes. Fiddler crabs are hardly a threat," Blaine laughed. He nudged the critter along with his foot and continued along the path till they rounded the last curve and the trail ended at the river, shining in the moonlight. "C'mon, let me show you another piece of my childhood."

He crunched over the pile of oyster shells, then the weathered boards of the short dock creaked under his feet as he led Kurt onto it, just a few steps down to the end and Blaine sat on the edge, letting his feet dangle toward the water. He tugged down on Kurt's hand. "Come sit with me. This dock isn't any dirtier than those yard chairs you were sitting on, you're going to have to wash your jeans anyway."

After a moment Kurt sat down, keeping his feet up on the dock.

"You can hang your pricey boots over. The water won't get any higher than it is now."

"How do you know that? The water around here has a habit of going up and down."

Blaine stifled a laugh. "Well, most natural bodies of water _are_ subject to the tides. But it's ebb tide now. The water will only get lower."

"Fine, I'll trust you. But if these boots get wet, you're buying me a new pair."

They sat in silence for a moment and Blaine closed his eyes to breathe in the thick miasma of marsh smells. Salt water and sea grass, wet dog as one of them splashed by the dock, and the mixture that he knew came from small dead creatures decaying in the mud but he preferred not to think of it that way. To him, it was just the smell of the marsh and river. It was the smell of home.

"So tell me about this place," Kurt asked, bringing him back. "You said you were going to show me part of your childhood."

"Yeah. Well, I told you that Sam and I spent a lot of summers out here. Look out there-" he pointed to a line of poles about a hundred yards out—"that line is the start of the Evans clam lease. The oysters we ate tonight also came from this river. But when we were kids, we focused mostly on the clams because oysters were never in season for selling during the summer months when we were out of school."

"Can you make much money selling clams?" Kurt asked, looking out over the water barely undulating in the moonlight.

"Uh, depends. It's dirty, physically demanding work, but we were young and didn't mind that. You have to put in a lot of hours to catch enough to make the sunburn and cuts worthwhile, but for two kids who weren't old enough to go out and get real jobs, yeah, we made good money."

"When I was fifteen, I was working with my dad in his garage. Saved up everything he paid me to bid on designer clothes on eBay, much to his dismay." Blaine chuckled. "What'd you spend your money on?"

"My first full summer here, when I was fourteen, we blew it on stupid kid stuff. Junk food, video games, the usual crap that all teenage buys spend their first money on." He could feel the look Kurt was giving him, and amended, "Well, _most_ teenage boys. The summer we were fifteen, and we realized that by the next year we'd be old enough to get our drivers' licenses, we decided we'd work as hard as we could all summer, save the money, and then keep working the next summer, and buy ourselves a car that we could share."

"Did you?" Kurt asked, sounding interested.

"Yep. We both drove that pickup truck for a few years, then passed it down to Stevie when he got old enough, then to Stacy. That old truck's been everyone's first vehicle."

"Hold on, you don't mean that little white Ford Ranger I saw parked in the corner of the yard?"

"Yep." Blaine drew the word out and popped the P.

"Oh my God...I assumed it didn't run. Blaine, that thing looks ancient. It must be held together by whatever gunk you used to cover up the rust spots."

Blaine chuckled. "Actually, I think it's a combination of the rust cover-up, grease, twine, electrical tape, and mud. There's a reason it's so dirty...we're afraid it'd fall apart if we washed it. But back when we first bought it, it was a nice little vehicle. Sam and I were so proud of ourselves for earning that truck on our own."

He fell silent again, thinking of that little Ford Ranger with its antiquated tape player and the hula girl Sam had mounted on the dash the day they bought it. It had a temperamental stick shift and that damned clutch had to be pumped and pushed down to the floor before it worked. At the end of a long trip with a lot of stop lights, Blaine's left knee would ache from the repeated usage. He'd often wondered if Stacy had the same problem. She was very conscious of taking care of her body, not wanting to risk any injury that would affect her dance training. He supposed the little truck would finally be retired when she went away to college.

"You keep disappearing on me," Kurt remarked.

"Sorry," Blaine laughed a little. "I guess I am zoning out, aren't I? I don't mean to ignore you."

"Want to tell me about it?" Kurt asked softly.

He wondered how to begin. "It's just….hearing Stacy talk about her plans, how excited she is for next year…that was me, not so long ago. I had plans like that once. And I guess it's hard to admit to myself that those young idealistic days are behind me."

Beside him, Kurt was nodding. "I see what you mean. After all, thirty is ancient. Your life is practically over."

"Don't poke fun, I'm being serious here!" Blaine protested, elbowing him lightly.

"Then you don't get to be ridiculous, Blaine. Why are you talking as if you can't make plans anymore? Why are you talking like it's too late?"

"It's just…" Blaine started, and stopped. He had a lifetime's worth of memories in this place. He wasn't sure he could explain it. How to explain to Kurt, a guy who'd left home at eighteen for the big city, how a small town could pull you in, how the act of leaving was more than just packing a bag and booking a plane ticket? "I dunno." He shrugged.

Silence for a moment, except for the waves lapping gently at the sand and one of the dogs digging through the pile of oyster shells behind them.

"Tell me what your dreams were," Kurt requested softly. Blaine turned to look at him in the shadows. Kurt held his gaze, unblinking. "When you were a senior in high school, right where Stacy is right now…what plans did you have that weren't realized?"

Blaine smiled briefly. "New York," he admitted. "I wonder if that's when Stacy's obsession with it started, from hearing me talk about it back then."

"And what did you want to do in New York?" Kurt's voice was still soft, as if afraid of scaring away Blaine's willingness to share if he spoke too loud.

Blaine laughed again, with a little more genuine humor in it this time. "Honestly? Back then, I'm not sure I really had a concrete plan. I had this vague idea that I wanted to go to the big city and 'be an artist'." He made air quotes with his fingers, mocking himself. "Pictured myself writing songs while sitting under a tree in Central Park, playing my guitar and singing in little coffee shops, making friends with other musicians and writing songs for them. Really solid plan, huh?"

"Hmm," Kurt hummed, not commenting on the practicality of plans made by Blaine's younger self. "So what happened? Why didn't you go?"

Blaine didn't answer for a moment, just gazed out over the river with its reflection of the moon. The bridge was in his peripheral vision to the left, with the headlights of cars flickering across his sight. Kurt waited patiently for him to speak, just swinging his feet gently.

"Well, Sam and I had always talked about going together. I don't think Sam really thought about it too hard, he just saw how excited I was about it and thought why not, you know? But then, our junior year of high school, we went to New York with our show choir to perform in the Macy's Parade. And Sam found out he hated it there. The cold, the noise, the crowds….he changed his mind in a hurry about wanting to move there." Blaine sighed, and slumped a little. "And for me, well. It didn't seem nearly so exciting when I realized I'd be going alone. It sounded scary. I loved the city when we visited, but I loved it from within the safety of my school group, you know?"

From the corner of his eye he could see Kurt nod. "I get it. It can be scary at first."

"I didn't give up because of that alone," Blaine went on. "I still wanted to go, even though I was scared. But then…well, I'd counted on my dad helping me out with some start-up money. But he refused. Said that it was foolish to not go to college, said it was foolish to move somewhere without a plan, and on and on. He said he'd pay for me to attend college anywhere I wanted, and he didn't even care if I got my degree in something impractical like music or theatre, but he wanted me to get a degree. So…I caved. It was just easier, and I guess I was too much of a chicken to go it alone, and against my father's wishes. Told myself that college would be a good transition time, give me a little more time to grow up, to make my plans for New York….I still planned to go."

"But you're still here," Kurt prompted after a moment.

"Uh, yeah. About the time Sam and I were both graduating from ECU, his mom got sick. Breast cancer. Mary and Dwight gave me a stable home, and a family, after I lost my mom and my dad was clueless on being a single parent. I wasn't about to jet off to New York when they were in crisis. So Sam and I moved back home after graduation, we both got jobs here, we were around to help out however we were needed….a few months later when she finished treatments, I was halfway into my first year of teaching music and found out I loved it. So I stayed, and for the first couple years I still told myself, 'oh I'm just saving up money for New York, I'll go when this school year is over….' But here I still am."

"It's not too late, you know."

"I know what you're saying, Kurt, but to be honest? It _feels_ too late."

"Why, Blaine? I mean, I'll admit I'm biased here because I'd love for you to move to New York, but I also don't understand why you're so adamant that you can't make a life change." Kurt wasn't trying to hide the frustration in his voice. "You're young and unattached, you're a teacher which is a profession that's needed everywhere so you shouldn't have trouble getting a job, and yet you're letting yourself be stuck here in No-Where-Ville. Do you really plan to be here for the rest of your life?"

Anger flared in him as he turned to glare at Kurt. "This No-Where-Ville, as you so politely called it, happens to be my home, Kurt. The only reliable home I've known since I was fourteen. That's over half my life, Kurt! And I don't know where you get off being so high and mighty, like you can come from the big city with your fancy clothes, and...and your Broadway resume and look down on us _pathetic_ small town folk."

Unable to sit still any longer, he hitched his feet up under him and stood, stomping off the dock to cross to the tall shack on the other side of the dirt path. Turning the flashlight back on and holding it under his arm, he fumbled for the key that hung on an upturned nail on the back and jabbed it into the lock, opening the door with a creak of its rusty hinges.

"I'm sorry." Kurt was behind him, a shadow in the dimness. "You're right, that was a really arrogant thing to say."

Blaine sighed, leaning his head against the door and knowing he was risking splinters. "I don't want to fight with you, Kurt." He turned to look at him and managed a fraction of a smile, not enough to show in the near-darkness, so he tried to put the smile in his voice. "Will you come up? I want to show you something."

He stepped across the raised lip of the threshold, into the shack which was no bigger in square footage than a child-size closet, and by memory reached for the battery-operated lantern that hung by the ladder, switching it on, then started the short climb up.

"Umm, Blaine? That ladder doesn't look too sturdy."

"Don't worry, it's held for years. And we replaced that one wonky rung," he smiled down at him through the hatch, chuckling to himself at the way Kurt paused in reaching for the next step.

He offered a hand to help Kurt step off the ladder and onto the second floor of the fort…..though 'second floor' was a rather ambitious phrase to apply to an area that measured approximately six by eight feet.

"You said you wanted to show me something?" Kurt asked, looking around.

"Wondering what there could possibly be to see up here in this cramped box?" Blaine guessed.

"Not to sound arrogant again, but…yeah."

"It's what you can see out the windows I wanted to show you. Look." Blaine moved to the small window, not much more than a boat's port hole really, on the side facing the river. "There's the clam lease where Sam and I dug up enough clams over two summers to pay for our own truck. Over there, see those lights just over the trees? That's the high school we attended. Those are the lights of the football field, Sam played on the team and I was there every home game, cheering him on. If you go upriver on a boat," Blaine pointed over to his right, "you can get to the Open Grounds, where we used to ride our four-wheelers. Look down there, that's my dog Merida."

"We've met," Kurt said softly. It sounded like he was smiling.

"And over here," Blaine crossed to the other side and pointed out a different port hole. "Over the trees on this side, you can see the Evans house. The most dependable home I ever had, the family that took me in when I lost my mom and my dad didn't want to raise me alone. Almost all my history is here, Kurt. And you ask why I can't easily pick up and leave?"

"I guess that would be hard," he answered. "Again, I'm sorry. The situation was totally different for me, when I finished high school. I couldn't wait to get out of there." Kurt's arms were crossed over his chest, and Blaine could barely see how he was rubbing at his arms with his fingers. "I knew I'd miss my dad, and Carole and Finn, but I never really thought of it as leaving them. I guess I thought of it as…moving forward, rather than leaving a life behind."

Blaine thought for a moment, trying to remember if that name had been mentioned before. "Kurt….who's Finn? Was he your high school boyfriend?"

"My-" Kurt huffed out a single jerky bark of laughter, hand over his mouth. "Oh God no. Although I did have a crush on him our sophomore year. Which was super awkward since he was straight. And the cringe factor multiplied times a hundred when his mom married my dad and we became brothers."

"Oh, that's….oh yeah, that'd be awkward." Blaine couldn't imagine. He'd had crushes on a few straight guys, but hadn't been related to any of them. Well, there had been that one time with Sam when he was changing clothes, but Blaine was fourteen at the time and nothing but raging hormones. He couldn't have helped his body responding to the sight of a very attractive, naked boy, right? That situation had been embarrassing enough, even with keeping his thoughts and physical reaction private. He realized he'd gotten lost in his own memories, ignoring Kurt. "You haven't mentioned Finn before now, why isn't he here on vacation with ya'll?"

Kurt stilled, and Blaine knew he'd said something wrong.

"I'm sorry, can we go back down?" Kurt asked. "The smell in here is a bit…" His hand was still over his mouth, but no longer to hold in laughter.

"Oh right. Sorry. I'm used to it, but—here, let me get the light." He shined the flashlight down the ladder again so Kurt could climb down, then followed, sticking the flashlight in his pocket because he didn't need it. The illumination from the lamp below was enough for him, with his familiarity of the shack.

Kurt stood in the path, eyes closed and taking slow deep breaths. Blaine gave him a moment while closing the door and making sure it was locked, the key hanging back on its hook, before turning to him again.

Eyes still closed, bathed in the soft glow from the full moon, he looked otherworldly. Blaine was in the perfect position to take full advantage of the view-his gorgeous profile, that slope of his nose, pursed lips and the arch of his throat as he turned up to the moon. Blaine had a sudden fierce desire to see him naked, to see all of him glowing in the moonlight like an elven king calling the tides to him.

Suppressing that thought—at least till later when he might pull it out again in private—he approached carefully.

"Kurt? Are you okay?" His lashes fluttered, eyes opened slowly to look at him, and Blaine realized there were tears on his lovely face. "I feel like I said something wrong, but I don't know what it was." Blaine was starting to be a bit desperate. What had he done?

Kurt drew another deep breath, let it out on a shaky exhale and smiled a bit, though it looked strained. "You couldn't have known."

"Whatever I did, tell me so I can try to make it up to you," Blaine begged.

"You asked why Finn isn't here," Kurt began. He wiped at his cheeks.

Oh God. Had there been a falling out, was Finn estranged from the family?

"My brother passed away in 2013," Kurt said it softly, looking down. He shoved his hand in his pockets. "It's been almost exactly twelve years. The anniversary is this week."

"Oh my God. I'm so sorry." Blaine knew what it was like, when people asked about his parents and he had to say that his mother had passed away when he was young. There was always that awkward pause before the obligatory condolences. Even all these years later, it still hurt to say it out loud, to inform someone new of the empty place in his life that would never be filled. He understood why Kurt hadn't mentioned his brother from the beginning, when they'd been exchanging basic information at their Fort Macon picnic.

Kurt shrugged a little, and seemed to shake himself back to some semblance of composure. "It's okay, I know you didn't know. And it's been twelve years, but…it doesn't get much easier. Each year, when this time rolls around, it's just….well, it sucks. Can we sit again? I'm feeling a little shaky."

There was nowhere to sit but the dock, not unless they wanted to plop down on the ground. When they were situated on the end of the dock again, legs hanging over the water which, as promised, was lower than it'd been before, Blaine opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again. Maybe Kurt didn't want to talk. But he'd already seen the aborted attempt and spoke quietly over the lapping of the waves.

"It's okay, you can ask questions. I don't mind talking about him."

How did he die, was the first question Blaine thought to ask. It must have been unexpected if he'd died that young. But he didn't want to lead with that and settled on, "Do you want to tell me about him?"

Kurt smiled, just a shifting of the shadows around his mouth. "He was tall."

"Umm…okay?" Not the description he was expecting.

"That was the first thing most people noticed about him. He was really all. One of our classmates used to call him Frankenteen."

"What else?" Blaine prompted. Lizzie nudged her way between them, looking for attention. "Go, Lizzie," Blaine commanded, keeping his attention on Kurt. "Tell me something else about him."

"He was…well, he wasn't the most open-minded guy when we first started spending a lot of time together, first in our glee club and then later living in the same house. But he really changed a lot during high school, you know? He grew as a person, became the sort of man who treated everyone the same, would defend the vulnerable."

"You were in glee club together?"

"Yeah. He could sing. And play drums. Not much of a dancer though." Again that quirk of a smile in the dim. "With his height and lack of coordination, there was a bit of the stumbling oaf persona to him. Maybe Santana had it right when she called him Frankenteen."

"Were you two close?" Blaine asked. "I mean, I know you became brothers, but were you close before that?"

"Yeah, we were. It took a while for our relationship to find its balance, but we really were. And my friend Rachel—you know I mentioned her being in the show with me?" Blaine nodded. "She and Finn dated off and on all through high school. I think they'd probably have ended up getting married if he'd lived. So she would have been my sister-in-law, not just my best friend."

They sat in silence, listening to the waves lap gently on the shore.

"I guess you never know how things will turn out," Blaine said finally. Lame. He knew it as soon as he said it. But Kurt didn't seem offended by the platitude.

"No, you don't. And thinking about Finn lately, thinking about everything that might have been in his life, how he could have changed my life, and Carole's, and my dad's, and Rachel's…..thinking about all of that is part of why I reacted the way I did a few minutes ago. To you saying it's too late, I mean." Kurt turned toward him, hitching one leg under him and leaning forward to take Blaine's hand in his own. "Blaine, if living here for the rest of your life and teaching, being close to your family and friends that you've grown up with, is what makes you happy, then you should do that. But if you think maybe you want something different, and the only reason you're not chasing after that is because you're scared, then…don't let that fear stop you. Life's too short to spend it being scared, Blaine."

His eyes were so intent, and his body leaning toward Blaine's, his hand holding his...and Blaine couldn't help himself. He leaned forward and kissed him. Just a gentle press of the lips, and a soft stroke of his fingertips along Kurt's jaw.

"I'll think about it," he said, sitting back.

A wet nose pushed its way between them and Blaine looked down, seeing it was Frodo who had snuck up on them this time. He sat back, creating a little space between them for the dog to nudge his way in, and dropped his hand from Kurt's face to stroke the dog absentmindedly.

A small explosion of sound carried to his ears and Blaine's hand stopped in its stroking as he scrambled to his feet. "Kurt, get up, you need to put some distance between you-"

Kurt looked up at him, quizzical. "Why are you in a hurry all of a sudden?" Then a look passed over his face and he pinched his nose shut, waving the other hand up in the air for Blaine to grab and pull him up. "Oh my God," he ground out, his voice altered by the lack of air through his still-pinched-closed nostrils. "What did that dog eat tonight?" he asked as they backed away. Frodo was left at the end of the dock, ears pricked up as he watched their retreat.

"Doesn't really matter, he's always that stinky. Fartingest dog I've ever met." Kurt's only answer was a strangled sound of disgust. "Ready to head back?"

"Yes, please. I thought the marsh smelled bad, but nothing can beat that dog's gas."

"Oh, you shouldn't say that," Blaine said, whistling for the rest of the dogs to let them know they were heading back. They'd all disappeared, off exploring in the tall marsh grass or the trees. "You've obviously never passed by a pile of fish guts on a hot summer day."

"Oh, barf."

"Or…." Blaine was laughing already at the memory. "You know how I told you that Sam and I spent a lot of time down here in the summer?" They were passing by the shed again and he waved at it. "Sometimes we would sleep in the fort overnight. There's just enough room to put two sleeping bags on the floor up there at the top."

"Don't tell me you took that dog up there with you," Kurt said, sounding normal now that he'd let go of his nose. "If he'd let loose in that enclosed space, you wouldn't be alive to tell the tale."

Blaine chuckled. "Well, the windows up there do open, you know. But no, this happened before I even moved here, I was just visiting. Frodo wouldn't have been born yet." He looped his arm through Kurt's again, shining the flashlight ahead of their feet. "But this one time, Sam and I got this bright idea that instead of going down the ladder in the middle of the night to pee in the bushes, we'd put a large jar in the corner and pee in that. So we did. And um….we'd brought lots of salty snacks and lots of soda, so we were kind of peeing a lot."

"You overflowed it? Or knocked it over?" His voice was horrified in the darkness.

"Uh, no. We _forgot_ it." Blaine chuckled again when Kurt stopped dead in his tracks, staring at him. "And we closed up the windows the next morning and left the fort to go back home, and no one entered the shed again till a month later, when Dwight came out here to use it. A full month in the August heat, Kurt. He said when the smell hit him, he thought something had crawled up there and died." Blaine was nearly bent double now, laughing at the memory. "Took weeks for that shed to air out…..almost as long as it took Dwight to stop yelling at us."

"Oh my God, Blaine, I can't believe you told me that story." But Kurt was laughing too.

"What?" Blaine defended himself, as they started walking again. "We were twelve! And hey, we learned our lesson, we never did it again!"

"You realize that most people don't make that mistake even _once_ in their lives, right?"

Before Blaine could answer, the dogs raced past them, barking at another car pulling up in the yard. The party had grown since they'd left. Several more cars had arrived, the number of people had tripled, and there seemed to be more dogs as well. Music played from somewhere, and a few people were dancing just outside the main circle clustered around the fire.

"I love this song!" Blaine exclaimed, as they got close enough to identify it. "C'mon, Kurt, dance with me!" He grabbed Kurt's hand and pulled him into a run for the remaining distance that brought them back into the noise and light of the party.

"What state are we in again?" he asked, as Blaine swung him around into dance position.

"Hey…. 'Carolina in my Mind' doesn't have a dance beat. And it's still about the South, so close enough!" he exclaimed, making Kurt laugh.

 _Sweet home Alabama, where the skies are so blue…_

Blaine was dimly aware of several people noting their return to the party, including those who hadn't been there when they left and were probably wondering who his date was. But introductions could wait, while he twirled his gorgeous partner around and sang along about coming home.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: I owe multiple apologies for how long it's been since the last update. First, for the six months when no writing got done due to illness, personal issues, etc. But also, this chapter was actually written a month or so ago and posted on AO3 and Tumblr...and I somehow completely forgot to post it here. So sorry! I'm not sure if anyone is still following this story here after so long, but if you are...bless you for sticking with it and I hope you enjoy this chapter. I'm working on chapter 11 this week and hope to post it soon, so at least you won't have another six-month wait.**

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The music had segued into something slower, a tune Kurt didn't recognize, and he and Blaine had naturally fallen into slow-dance position, with Blaine leading. They weren't pressed as close as they could be, but close enough for Kurt's head to naturally lean against Blaine's…close enough that it felt only right to close his eyes and breathe him in for a moment. Whatever Blaine used to keep those wild curls of his tamed, it smelled faintly of tropical fruits.

Blaine's arm scooping around his waist, pulling him just a little closer, brought Kurt back to himself enough to open his eyes as he wondered if anyone at the party might object to two men dancing together. It seemed unlikely, at a gathering of Blaine's family and their friends, when he'd made it clear that he'd been out for years, but it could be dangerous to assume.

The next swaying half-turn, he scanned the small crowd and saw that most of them were ignoring the dancers, involved with the food and their own conversations. Carole was watching him and Blaine, with a little smile. Damn it, he knew she'd set him up! Hard to complain though, when he was dancing with a gorgeous guy. The next half turn, and she was out of his range of vision. That's when he saw them…Stacy and two other girls her age, hovering on the edge of the firelight and watching them as they whispered amongst themselves, none too subtly.

"We're being watched," he murmured in his dance partner's ear.

"Hmm?" Blaine drew back far enough to look at him, then turned to where the girls were now trying to look like they just happened to be standing in that spot talking, very deliberately _not_ looking in Kurt and Blaine's direction. Blaine smothered a laugh before calling out to his cousin. "Stacy?"

"Yeah, Blaine?"

"Go be a Broadway stalker somewhere else. This isn't the stage door." With a panicked, we've-been-caught look, the girls fled to the far side of the fire, fading into the shadows. "Sorry about that."

"Was that really about me?" Kurt asked in wonder, as Blaine stepped back to twirl him once and then regained his hold on him as they continued dancing. The music had changed again, something a bit too fast for their slow swaying, but they kept doing it anyway.

"Well, yeah…those are her theatre friends. She probably called them as soon as we left the yard, and told them to get their butts over here to meet a legit Broadway actor. I mean, it's not every day that one of those strolls into her parents' yard and sits at the fire to slurp down oysters. I can tell her to cease and desist, if they're bothering you."

"No, it's fine. I'm flattered, actually. I'll go over and talk to them in a bit."

"It'll be the highlight of their evening, I'm sure."

At the next change of song, Kurt announced that it was his turn to lead, to which Blaine gave a courtly bow and held his arms up, waiting for his cue.

"Dork," Kurt accused with a smile. They danced through two more songs, before returning to the group around the fire in search of a drink. They shooed Stevie off the cooler that he was using as a seat and pulled out cans of soda. Kurt didn't usually drink caffeine this late, but couldn't find it in himself to care at the moment. He searched the small crowd for his parents and found them in conversation with the Evans parents. "Excuse me for a moment," he said to Blaine, who nodded and sat next to Stevie, immediately lapsing into conversation with his younger cousin.

Carole and Mary both had their phones out, scrolling their screens as their husbands looked over their shoulders.

"What about this one?" Mary asked as Kurt came into hearing distance. "It's only two blocks from the water and the price is right if you don't mind a fixer-upper."

"Nah, that's not a problem. I can fix things." Burt reached out and tapped something on Carole's screen. "What about that next one?"

"What are you guys talking about?" Kurt asked, as all four of them startled like they'd been caught doing something wrong.

"Just looking at rental properties for next year," Carole answered with an easy smile as both phones were put away. "We're really happy with the place we got this year, and we got it by planning months ahead. So we figured it couldn't be too soon to look for next summer."

Kurt wasn't entirely convinced…if they were looking at rental properties, then why would his dad need to fix anything? But he shrugged it off. His parents would tell him when they were ready.

Turned out that his parents were about ready to go, and Kurt asked Blaine if he could give him a ride back to the beach house later that night. He wasn't ready for the evening to end, and could tell from his date's enthusiastic agreement that he wasn't either. He said goodbye to Burt and Carole with a promise to spend the next day with them, and wandered back to the fire with Blaine, still sipping his soda.

They mingled for a while, with Blaine taking Kurt around and introducing him to several people. Sam's girlfriend Penny had arrived while they were at the river, and told Kurt that she'd enjoyed talking to Carole about the nursing profession. Apparently, the two of them had spent quite a while comparing their respective hospitals and departments.

He also met the local animal control officer, an Amazonian woman who made Kurt feel small and seemed to be related to the Evans in some way that he didn't quite understand. Her loud voice and overly-affectionate greeting to him made him think the beer in her hand was far from her first. She personally took credit for every dog in the yard finding their permanent homes with Blaine and his relatives. Blaine whispered as they walked away that she wasn't responsible for _all_ of them, but it was true that she worked tirelessly to find forever homes for as many shelter animals as she could.

He also met a series of people that stood out to him only for their odd names, some of which he hoped fervently were only nicknames, otherwise their parents were truly cruel. He met two Buddys, a middle-aged man called Heavy-Duty, a Dirty Dan, a Bunky, a Ratchet, a Booge (not Butch, Blaine whispered to him when he mispronounced it), a Dewey, a Butch (there it was), and a grizzled old man called Froggy, whose croaking voice gave a clue on how he'd come by his name. Most of the odd names seemed to be given to the men, but he did meet a sweet little lady who—when she wasn't being called Granny by anyone under the age of forty—seemed to go by the odd nickname of Dumpy. And then there was the woman who Blaine introduced as Bulldog. As he had just met Froggy right before her, Kurt tripped over his hello, only narrowly avoiding calling her Bullfrog. Although…would that really be any worse than her actual name?

They'd completed their round of the yard and he was guzzling the last of the beverage when his phone vibrated in his back pocket. He pulled his phone out, seeing it was a Facetime call from Rachel and looking for somewhere to put his empty can, when Blaine took it from him. Kurt smiled thanks and answered the call.

"Hey, Rachel. How'd the show go tonight?" He wandered away from the fire and the chatter of conversation, finding a relatively quiet spot just beyond the circle of light.

"Oh, it was fine. But your understudy isn't as good as you, Kurt. When are you coming back?" Rachel was taking off her stage makeup as she talked, looking in her mirror instead of at her phone. She must have propped her phone up on the table to keep her hands free.

"Sunday afternoon. You know that. I'll have Monday to unpack and rest from the trip, be back at the theatre on Tuesday."

God, was he really leaving that soon? This was Friday evening…he had all of tomorrow, then he flew out on Sunday morning. He hadn't realized it was coming up so quickly. In about 36 hours he'd be saying goodbye to Blaine. He hadn't thought, when he went down to the beach to flirt with the cute guy who went jogging by, that he'd regret leaving this place.

"I thought you might have gotten tired of the small-town life and decided to come back early," Rachel said, echoing his thoughts.

"Well, I came down here to see my parents, Rachel. I'm not going to leave early." His eyes found Blaine, who stood with his back to him, talking to someone Kurt hadn't met. "And it's not so bad here."

"Oh my God...I just remembered about that guy! You went out with him last night! Tell me everything!" Suddenly Rachel's face filled the screen, eyes blazing as if she could project sheer force of will through the phone and compel him to answer.

"I don't want to get into that right now, Rachel. But if you didn't remember about him, then you had another reason for calling. What is it?"

"I can't just call because I want to talk to my best friend?" She was suddenly all innocence, but he knew her too well for that.

"When your loving fans are waiting for you at the stage door? No, you wouldn't call just to chat. Give it up, Rachel."

"Fine," she huffed. "I called because I got those names and numbers you asked for, though I still don't see why you need them. Got something to write with?"

"Uh, no…I'm kinda outside right now. Can you email it to me when you get home tonight?"

"You're outside? Why?"

"I do go outside occasionally, Rachel."

"But not without good reason." Well, the knowing each other went both ways. "Where are you, Kurt?"

"Fine," he said, seeing she wasn't about to give up. "I'm at Blaine's family's house, we're doing something called an oyster roast, it involves lighting fires so it has to be outside."

"You're meeting his family?" She nearly shrieked it. "Oh my God, you're serious about this guy, aren't you?"

"Can you just send the information, Rachel? Please?" He really didn't want to get into a long conversation with her right now, not when Blaine had turned, obviously looking to see if he'd finished his call. "Blaine's waiting for me. I promise," he waylaid her as she opened her mouth to say it, "that I'll tell you everything when I get back to New York. But just let me enjoy my vacation, please?"

"You can't leave me hanging, Kurt. Tell me just one thing about him."

He cast about for something to say that wouldn't prolong the conversation, and caught sight of Stacy and her friends hovering nearby, trying not to look like they were hovering near him.

"Okay, here's one thing…he has a younger cousin who's going to New York next year to study acting and wants to work on Broadway. I've already offered to show her around in the city."

Rachel gasped, holding a hand to her heart. "You're offering help to his little cousin...you are _so_ gone on this guy, I just know it!" She bounced in her seat, causing her hairband to slip back off her head.

"Her name's Stacy, and she's here, and I know she'd love to talk to a real Broadway star. Can you spare a few minutes to talk to her? It would make her night, Rachel. She'll talk about it for weeks," he wheedled.

"Hmm…" She pretended to think about it, fixing her hairband to buy time, but he knew that he had her already. "I suppose I can spare five more minutes before I go out to sign autographs."

Kurt grinned. "Hold on a sec." He covered the microphone and aimed the screen down toward the ground, beckoning to Stacy as he walked over. "Hey, Stacy…do you know who Rachel Berry is?" He kept his voice low, on the off chance that the answer was negative, though he couldn't imagine that an aspiring Broadway starlet wouldn't recognize Rachel's name.

"Of course! I've been following her career for years, and I have every cast recording she's ever sung on!" Stacy's face lit up at the mere mention of Rachel's name. Perfect. Let the two of them distract each other for a bit.

"Well, she happens to be my best friend, and she's on Facetime right now. Wanna talk to her?" He held the phone out, screen still facing downward.

Stacy's eyes nearly bulged out, and she stared at the phone as if uncertain what to do with it.

"For real?" she whispered.

"Yep. She just finished a show and she only has a few minutes before she goes out to sign autographs at the stage door, so this is a limited-time offer." He wagged the phone back and forth enticingly.

"Stacy, take the damn phone or I will!" One of her friends slapped her lightly in the arm to bring her out of her daze.

"Right, right. Okay." Stacy reached out with trembling hands and took the phone, holding it up so her friends, crowded around her, could see as well.

"Hi, is this Stacy?"

Kurt heard Rachel's voice through the speakers before turning away, holding the image of Stacy's shell-shocked face in his mind as he went looking for Blaine, finding him in a crouch next to his aunt's chair and talking to her. She seemed to be making a list of some sort. Blaine nodded to her before standing to smile at Kurt.

"So I was watching from over here…what did you do to my cousin that put that look on her face?"

Kurt shrugged. "Oh, you know…just put on her Facetime with my best friend, who happens to be a Broadway headlining star."

"You didn't!" Blaine laughed.

"She'll not go to sleep tonight," Mary commented, shaking her head. "She'll be bouncing off walls in excitement for hours."

"Sorry about that…" Kurt smirked as he said it, showing that he wasn't all that sorry. Looking across the yard, he could see the three girls still huddled around his phone, their faces glowing with more than the screen light.

"So you'll put me down for next week?" he heard Blaine ask. He was crouched down by his aunt's chair again, looking at the clipboard on her lap.

"Yep, got you on Tuesday. Just drop off before 6:00 pm, honey."

"Will do." Blaine nodded as he stood upright, and looked at Kurt, jerking his head toward where they'd been dancing before. "Care to dance again?"

"Actually, why don't we just sit down and talk?" Kurt suggested.

They found two chairs together by the fire, just outside the circle of light. The gathering had mellowed, everyone scattered around in pairs and small groups, talking or just sipping at their beers while they stared at the embers in contemplation. The dogs seemed to have mostly disappeared—to run in the woods, Kurt imagined—though a couple laid by the fire or sat by someone, nudging their hand occasionally in hopes of being petted.

"Want more oysters?" Blaine asked. There were still a few on the grill, looking ready to eat. Kurt shook his head.

"Do you mind if I ask what you were talking to your aunt about?"

"I don't mind at all. It's not a happy topic, though."

Kurt shrugged to indicate that it didn't bother him.

"One of the local teachers just got diagnosed with cancer. He's nearly to retirement age, doesn't have much family in the area to support him through it, so Mary's organizing volunteers to take him dinner each day and check on him."

"Is that something that's common around here?" Kurt asked.

"It's a Southern thing. Somebody gets sick or has a death in the family, you take food over. In his case, people are more likely to step up because they know he doesn't have much family. And the guy's been teaching drama here for about as long as anyone can remember, so pretty much every kid east of Beaufort has either had him for a teacher or at least knows of him. Some people here tonight had him for a teacher, and now their kids take his classes."

"Seriously?" Kurt asked, befuddled. "So you're telling me he's been at the same job for twenty years or more?"

"You find that surprising?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, I change jobs every year, if not more often. Working on Broadway means that you're always looking for your next job."

"Is that really true?" Stacy stood before them, holding Kurt's phone out. "I mean, I know that's the cliché about show business, that you're always auditioning. Is it really like that?"

"More or less, yeah." He took his phone and pocketed it. "Not to burst your bubble, but if you want to work in theatre, you will be looking for your next paycheck almost constantly."

"That's why so many actors wait tables?" she asked. "Another cliché that's true?"

"Right. Because rent has to be paid, regardless of how your acting career is going."

She nodded, intent on his advice. Kurt had to fight a grin, because she was so serious, listening to him so earnestly…but he didn't want to mock her.

"Any advice on how to avoid working the crappy jobs while trying to make it?"

"Not really…sorry, but working the crappy jobs is something of a rite of passage on Broadway."

"Right."

"Sometimes you luck out," he said, trying to soften the blow, "and get hired at one of those shows that runs forever, and that's a steady paycheck….as long as you don't mind doing the same exact thing over and over, eight shows a week, for eternity. But most artistic types get bored too easily for that. So you look for the next acting challenge, the next show that's a different style than what you're used to, and you take a risk that that show will run a while instead of closing after a month or so. It's the nature of the Broadway beast." He smiled apologetically as he finished.

Stacy only listened carefully, not seeming disillusioned at all. "And what about-"

"Stacy," Blaine interrupted. "Kurt's answered several questions, and introduced you to his friend, maybe that's enough for one night? Hmm?" He raised his brows at her.

"Oh, yes!" she exclaimed, seeming to remember herself. "Thanks so much for talking to me, Kurt. And for introducing me to Rachel. We all loved it, and the kids who didn't come over when I invited them are going to be so jealous when we go back to school on Monday, because they missed it all."

"How many people did you invite, for crying out loud?" Blaine asked.

"Umm…well." She suddenly looked abashed. "I may have posted it on my show's Facebook page for all the cast and crew."

Blaine laughed loudly, giving Kurt a light slap on the arm. "You're lucky you weren't mobbed."

"You overestimate my celebrity status," Kurt said dryly, before asking Stacy, "What show are you in?"

" _Thoroughly Modern Millie_ ," she answered. "I'm playing Millie."

"That's an amazing role. Congratulations!" Kurt told her sincerely.

"Thanks," she said with a grin. "I worked really hard for the audition, because there were a couple other girls who are stronger tappers than me, and I was afraid the director would think I couldn't handle the dance, but I worked with my teacher to prepare and I got it. It's my first lead," she said proudly.

"When are your performances?" Kurt asked.

"In about three weeks. I wish you could come and see it!" she exclaimed, her eyes lighting up.

"Oh, I wish I could too…but I fly back to New York on Sunday morning," Kurt said with regret that, to his surprise, felt genuine. When was the last time he watched a high school production? The last time he sat in the audience to support that next generation of performers as they fumbled through their songs with more enthusiasm than polish?

"Sunday?" Blaine asked, his dismay obvious.

"Yeah, unfortunately." Kurt shrugged, trying to play it off as nonchalant, even though it was hitting him too. It seemed that a lot had changed in the past few days.

"And I guess you won't be back," Blaine muttered.

"So you can't see my show," Stacy said mournfully. "Hey! Maybe I can sing one of the songs for you right now! Blaine, can you set up your keyboard down here? I have the sheet music!"

"Stacy, what did I just say about enough for one night?"

"Sorry," she muttered, deflated.

"Actually, Blaine, I'd like to hear it. If you wouldn't mind playing?"

"All right, if you're sure you don't mind." He said to Stacy, "See if Stevie will help you get the keyboard set up, hmm?"

"Perfect!" She jumped up and down, actually clapping her hands. "I'll get everything together! Stevie!" She yelled as she jogged away. "Come help me!"

They watched her go, silent for a moment.

"I guess I hadn't realized you were leaving so soon," Blaine said finally.

"I know. I only realized it when Rachel asked a few minutes ago."

"So…tomorrow and that's it? You won't-" Blaine was distracted by Merida, who came up and nudged his hand. He stroked her head as he asked, "I don't suppose you'd consider coming back for a visit?"

"I'd love to, and believe me, I didn't think I'd ever say that when I got here a few days ago. But the time between the end of the Sunday matinee and the Tuesday evening show isn't much, and that's all the time I get off each week. Makes it hard to travel several states away."

Blaine nodded, eyes down as he stroked his dog methodically. "So can I spend tomorrow with you, before you go back?"

"I'd love that," Kurt said, and meant it. "But I told my parents I'd spend the day with them…maybe you could join us for whatever they've got planned?"

"Of course, unless you wanted it to be a family-only day. I wouldn't want to impose."

Kurt reached over and grasped his hand. "You won't be."

The music that had been playing since they returned from the river stopped, and Stacy called from across the yard. "OK, we're ready!"

Kurt stood, automatically brushing off the seat of his pants, and swept an arm toward the designated performance area. "Shall we?"

They made their way over to where Stacy stood next to a large keyboard that had been set up, an extension cord running away from it to the side of the house where it was plugged in to an outside outlet. Blaine squeezed Kurt's hand once before letting go and sitting at the keyboard, turning it on and playing a quick scale.

"So, everyone…" Stacy started, raising her voice to carry over the quiet conversations. "I hope you don't mind, but I'm going to sing a song from the show that I'm rehearsing at school. It's called _Thoroughly Modern Millie_ and our performances are three weekends from now, so I'd love it if you'd all come out and support me and my cast mates."

Her voice was a little higher than usual, and sounded as though she wasn't getting enough air. Nerves, he thought. He saw her look at him, as if to make sure he was paying attention, and mouthed, "Breathe." She looked perplexed for a second, so he drew in a deep breath then let it out, exaggerating the process. She nodded, and closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath just as he had. When she opened them, she looked his way again and gave him a small smile, looking more focused. _There she was…the performer just came out._

She looked to her right, nodding to Blaine, who played the gentle opening chords. Stacy looked over their heads, focused on something only she could see, and Kurt slipped his phone out of his pocket, clicking the video record button.

 _I studied all the pictures in magazines and books,_

 _I memorized the subway map too._

 _It's one block north to Macy's and two to Brothers Brooks._

 _Manhattan, I prepared for you._

Kurt was dimly aware that several people had left their seats around the fire and come over to stand around him and watch the performance, but stayed focused on Stacy's image in his phone to make sure he was getting a good recording. Well, as good as could be expected when recording with an iPhone, outside at nighttime, and the performer not having a microphone. He flicked a glance over to Blaine, who flipped a page in the music and kept playing, concentrating on his job as accompanist.

 _You certainly are different from what they have back home,_

 _Where nothing's over three stories high._

 _And no one's in a hurry or wants to roam, but I do,_

 _Though they wonder why._

Someone stepped up next to him, close enough to brush his arm and jolt his phone a little. Kurt stepped aside to get a clear view again, glancing over to see who had bumped him and seeing Sam. His girlfriend—what was her name? Penny, that's right, stood on the other side of him, smiling as she watched Stacy. But not Sam. His arms were crossed, his mouth set in a straight line as he watched his sister perform. What was with him? Kurt looked back to Stacy, wanting to see how she performed the upbeat section that was coming next. She hit a pose on the first downbeat, and became more animated, in contrast to the dreamy look she'd had during the first ballad-like section.

 _Burn the bridge! Bet the store!_

 _Baby's coming home no more!_

 _Not for the life of me._

 _Break the lock, post my bail._

 _Done my time, I'm outta jail._

 _Not for the life of me!_

Sparing a glance around him, Kurt saw that the Evans parents were several feet away, smiling proudly as they watched their daughter perform. Stevie stood beside them, hands in his pockets and nodding along to the beat. He didn't look overly enthused nor did he seem put out by having all the attention focused on his sister. He just watched politely.

Unlike his older brother, who was looking more upset as the song progressed. Kurt had gotten the feeling since meeting him that Sam wasn't happy to have him here, and he couldn't figure out why. But okay, Sam could dislike him if he wanted, but what did he have against his sister performing a song for family and friends, and performing it very well?

 _A life that's gotta be more than a one-light town,_

 _Where the light is always red._

 _Gotta be more than an old ghost town,_

 _Where the ghost ain't even dead!_

Sam turned abruptly and walked away, Penny following after a second's bewildered pause. Kurt saw the quick motion of Stacy's eyes, and knew she'd seen her brother walk away. This wasn't an auditorium, after all, and she wasn't on a stage with bright lights blinding her. A member of her family was standing mere feet from her, watching her perform, then walked away before the song was over. But it didn't affect her performance, other than that one quick glance. She refocused her attention on her remaining audience and finished strong, belting out the final lines.

 _Not for the life of me…boh-doh-dee-oh,_

 _Not for the life of,_

 _Not for the life of,_

 _Not for the life…of…me!_

Kurt clicked the stop button and lowered his phone, sticking it under his arm so he could applaud. Stacy gave a quick curtsey, then swept an arm in Blaine's direction to include him in the applause, which Kurt was glad to see. Acknowledging her accompanist showed that she'd been taught good performance etiquette, something he'd seen lacking in young performers sometimes. Of course, it was probably easier to remember when your accompanist was your cousin.

"Thank you! And now I want to do one more song but I'm going to ask my friends to come up and help me with this one."

She bent to whisper in Blaine's ear, and he nodded, closing the music book in front of him and placing his fingers over the keys, waiting for the girls to take their places. Stacy's friends arranged themselves on either side of her, and she nodded to Blaine again.

Kurt laughed when Blaine began pounding out the unmistakable opening chords of the _9 to 5_ opening number. The girls had obviously performed this together before, as they each were singing a specific character's parts and even had synchronized choreography.

He didn't remember to record till they'd already sung the opening verse, but he got the rest of it. The girls finished their song and he applauded with everyone else, approaching the girls as they took their bows for the impromptu audience standing around on the dirt and grass.

"Awesome job, girls," he praised.

"Thanks," they chorused in unison, and Stacy introduced her friends.

"This is Alicia, she's in the ensemble this year in _Millie_ but our sophomore year, she played the lead in _Aida_. They don't usually give the lead to a sophomore, but she was so much better than any of the juniors or seniors who auditioned."

"Congratulations on that, Alicia." He shook her hand. "Big accomplishment for a sophomore."

"Thanks. I worked really hard for it, because I thought it might be my only chance to play a lead during my high school career."

Kurt nodded, realizing the truth of what she said, then looked to Stacy's other side as she introduced the other girl.

"And this is Karen, she's in the ensemble this year too and she's also the assistant choreographer for the show. She's an amazing dancer."

The petite girl almost curtsied as she took Kurt's hand to shake it. She seemed oddly withdrawn for a performer, though he hadn't noticed any shyness while she was performing.

"Assistant choreographer? So are you a dance specialist?"

"Kinda, yeah." Her voice was soft. "My mom owns a dance studio, so I kinda grew up there. I've already been teaching the little kids' classes for a couple years now."

"So…" he addressed the question to all three of them. "Has your high school done _9 to 5_ before?"

"Well, yeah, last year." Stacy answered, as the representative of the trio. "But we didn't play the leads. We just kind of practiced the songs on our own."

"Just in case one of the leads got sick, or feel victim to a mysterious accident," Alicia chimed in, with a wink telling Kurt just what sort of 'accident' the leads might have encountered. He smothered a laugh.

"I probably should say that it's immoral to wish accidents on your show's stars, but as someone who's toiled mostly in the chorus for a decade, I can't say I haven't had the same thoughts."

"See?" she poked Stacy. "You're too nice."

Stacy shoved her back good-naturedly and asked Kurt, "Any advice?"

"Hmmm…you sure you want it? I've been told that I can be quite critical. And that's coming from Rachel Berry."

"The one we talked to on the phone?" Karen gasped. "What could you possibly criticize her about?"

"Oh, anything I want. Best-friend privilege. Rachel and I have known each other for a long time, and we don't pull punches with each other. But keep in mind that casting directors don't pull punches either, girls. Every time you audition for a new part, every time you step on stage, you might as well be wearing a sign that says glutton for punishment." Her eyes widened in fear.

"It's okay, we can take it. You can," she said to Karen, looping her arm through her friend's. "Hit us with it."

"Would you mind starting the song again? Blaine, if you please?"

Blaine, who'd been watching all of that from the keyboard, with a small smile trying to break through, nodded and started playing the opening chords again.

The girls hastily struck their opening positions. They'd barely sung two words when Kurt stopped them, raising his hand so Blaine could see the signal too. "OK, you girls didn't come in quite together that time. One of you was a bit behind by about half a beat. It's bum-bum-bum-bum AND 'tumble out of bed…' Try again."

They struck their opening pose again, Kurt nodded to Blaine, and this time he clapped the rhythm. He could see the girls watching him slant-wise, even when their poses had them facing away, and he cued them in. They came in perfectly in sync that time. "Excellent…keep going!"

He didn't know how much time had passed, but they were finally close to the end of the song, having stopped numerous times for him to offer advice on some minute detail of their performance, when Kurt became aware that he was being watched. More precisely, he was being glared at.

Sam had returned and stood a few feet away, arms crossed and a scowl on his face. Kurt gave him a pointed look as he adjusted Stacy's arm position, telling her to give every gesture meaning. She saw that his attention wasn't totally on her, then saw her brother hovering.

"What do you want, Sam? We're kind of busy here."

"Busy with what, exactly? Why exactly are you taking advice from this guy?"

She dropped her arms, easily matching her brother's scowl as she stomped over to him. It would have been more impressive if she'd had some dress heels to pound against a hard floor, but even in tennis shoes on packed dirt, she managed to drum up a good amount of righteous indignation.

"For the same reason that I take dance classes and voice lessons and I audition for every production I can! I'm going to New York, I'm going to attend drama school, I'm going to work on Broadway and I know you don't like any of that but you can't stop me! And when an experienced Broadway actor shows up at our parents' house and offers to coach me, I take him up on it!" She jabbed him in the chest to emphasize her point, as Sam stood his ground and refused to budge, not even altering his facial expression.

Kurt was so busy admiring Stacy's passionate response to her brother that he didn't see Blaine get up from the keyboard till he was shoving himself between brother and sister.

"All right, both of you…calm down."

"You've got no right to get in the middle-" Sam spit at Blaine, before being cut off by a heavy hand landing on his shoulder and pulling him back.

"Maybe he doesn't, but I do," Dwight Evans said firmly. "You come with me, son. Cool off." He steered him away with an arm around his shoulders, while Mary stepped up to speak to Stacy.

"Did you see the way he spoke to me, Mama? He can't decide for me!"

"Why don't you girls come in the house with me for a bit? Let everyone mellow out a little. It's getting late anyway, this party's winding down."

"Are you going to say anything to him?" Stacy demanded, not moving.

"Sweetheart, I said we would sit down tomorrow and discuss your college plans. And we will. For now, just let it be."

"Fine." She shrugged away from her mother and strode past Kurt toward the house before turning back and holding out a hand for him. "Thank you for the performance lessons, Kurt," she said, making an obvious effort to be gracious. "I really appreciate it, and sorry for my bull-headed brother."

Kurt took her hand, but only to pull her in for a hug. "You're welcome," he murmured in her ear. "And don't worry, it'll all work out."

Her friends stepped up as well and thanked him, and he wished them luck on their college applications, having learned while working with them that neither of them had gotten replies yet. Mary herded the girls away and Kurt heaved a sigh as Blaine came up beside him.

"What the heck was that all about?" He looked over his shoulder, to Sam slouched in a plastic chair by the fireside. Dwight shoved a beer in his hand and clapped him on the shoulder. "Is Sam always that…whatever that was?"

"Kinda, yeah. I'm sorry he was a jerk to you and Stacy. But family is everything to Sam, and he can't stand the idea of his little sister leaving. In his mind, you're encouraging her crazy delusions. That kinda makes you the enemy." Kurt opened his mouth to protest, but Blaine cut him off. "I didn't say it was right. Just trying to tell you his point of view. I'll talk to him tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay," Kurt agreed. It wasn't his place to come between cousins, especially since he was only here temporarily. "It's getting late, do you think you might be able to drive me back soon?"

"You don't have to leave, Kurt. Don't let Sam's behavior drive you away."

"It's not that. But it really is getting late and I promised my Dad and Carole that I'd spend tomorrow with them, so it'd probably be best if I wake up before noon."

"Right." Blaine nodded, resigned. "Tomorrow's your last day."

"You said you'd hang out with us." Kurt looped an arm through Blaine's, starting to amble over to Mr. Evans to tell him thank you for having him and his parents at their party. "You're still coming over, right?"

Blaine grinned. "I'd love to."


	11. Chapter 11

Blaine woke to the sound of his phone vibrating on the bedside table, his sleep-numb fingers groping for it before he even opened his eyes. He brought it up to his ear and mumbled something that might have been hello, but the phone kept vibrating in his hand.

Forcing his eyes open, he squinted at the screen and realized it was a series of texts that had woken him.

 _Blaine come over now!_

 _Need help!_

 _Family meeting!_

 _Need sum1 that LIKES Bway!_

Stacy. Of course. A family meeting that might well decide her college plans was important enough for multiple texts at—what time was it? He peered at the phone again. Oh. To be fair, it was nearly 10:00 am. He should have been up before now, to let Merida out. But he'd gotten to bed late the night before, after driving Kurt back to his parents' beach house after midnight. A goodnight kiss on their porch had turned into two, then three, then I-lost-count-and-omg-who-cares-anyway? All Blaine knew was that after a few minutes, he couldn't remember why he'd refused Kurt's advances, that night at his cottage. What with one thing and another, it was after 2:00 am before he went to sleep.

Another vibration, just as his eyes drifted closed.

 _Blaine r u up?_

 _Please!_

"Okay, okay," he muttered to the empty room, and forced himself to sit up. Merida came padding in through the open door and head-butted his leg, wagging her tail hopefully. "Alright girl, I hear ya."

He shuffled through the living room to let the eager dog out, and managed to get his fingers to cooperate enough to text _omw_ to Stacy, before stepping into the shower. Under the warm water his head started to clear and he remembered that he promised to spend today with Kurt and his family. First things first, he decided as he rinsed the shampoo from his hair. He'd text him that he was going to the Evans' to help Stacy with her supposed emergency, then the rest of the day belonged to Kurt.

By the time he arrived at the Evans home, he could hear shouting from out in the yard. He let Merida out of the truck and commanded her to stay in the yard, knowing that she would jump into the fray with the other dogs as soon as he was out of sight. She liked to run in the woods with them.

The back door was open to the spring breeze, so he entered quietly to the sight of Stacy pacing up and down the living room in front of her parents, with Sam standing to one side with his arms crossed.

"I don't know exactly where I'll be living," Stacy said to them. No one had noticed Blaine's entrance yet. " _No one_ knows about their college housing six months in advance. I'll find that out later."

"And how'll you pay for tuition at this fancy school?" Dwight asked. "Will you figure that out later, too?"

She heaved a very loud and deliberate sigh, as if to let her father know how obtuse he was being. "I've applied for financial aid, and scholarships. Those letters usually come after the acceptance letters. I don't know why this process is such a mystery to you. Sam and Stevie went through the same exact thing."

"Uh, no," Sam corrected her. "Stevie and I both went to schools close to home, that didn't cost a million dollars a year _and_ didn't have a drug dealer on every corner, or trash piled up on the sidewalk stinking to high heavens."

Stacy rolled her eyes. "He's exaggerating," she said to her parents. "It's not like that."

"Look, all I'm saying is that I've been there," Sam said loudly, talking over her before she could finish.

"So have I!" Stacy whirled to face her brother. "And I didn't see any of the stuff you're talking about, Sammy. What I saw was amazing!"

"Well, that just goes to show how blind you can be."

"Don't you dare talk down to me, Sam Evans!" She stalked over so she could glare at him up close. Her back was to Blaine but he could read her anger in her body language. "Just because I saw something different in New York doesn't mean I'm blind!"

"No, just means-"

"Enough!" Mary said, causing both siblings to cut themselves off mid-tirade. She didn't raise her voice. She didn't need to. Her children knew the consequences of not listening to their mother, and the fact that they were grown now—or nearly, in Stacy's case—hadn't changed her opinion that her children should show their parents respect, and woe betide them if they forgot it. Blaine had always admired her ability to command attention without yelling. He'd tried it with his students, but clearly he lacked a special something that Mary had.

Blaine stood in the doorway between kitchen and living room, and saw the look that passed between his aunt and uncle as Mary jerked her head toward Sam. Dwight nodded and got up, crossing to his eldest son and urging him to move with a gentle push to his back.

"You come along with me, son, got some business down at the shore that you can help me with."

"Oh, so I'm getting kicked out, but _he_ gets to stay?" He pointed at Blaine.

Stacy noticed Blaine for the first time. "Oh, thank goodness you're here." She took a step toward him, but he shook his head, stopping her.

"He's just going to encourage this fool notion of hers," Sam muttered.

"I'm not staying," he told all of them. "I just came by to speak to Stacy for a moment, then I need to get going."

"See? He thinks it's a good idea for her to go off to New York."

"What Stacy does is up to her, Sam. I came to offer support."

"Yeah, but-"

"C'mon, son. That skiff ain't gonna bail itself out." Dwight headed to the door.

"You're not serious, Dad."

"Son-" Dwight pivoted back to him, his tone brooking no argument. "I meant what I said. Get your ass outside now, or start packing your stuff. You may be grown but you're still living here and that means I still get to tell you what to do. _Now_ , Sam."

With a final glare at the room at large, Sam followed Dwight out to the front deck, and a moment later the pounding of feet down the steps said they were going out to the yard.

"Now that he's gone, maybe we can have a conversation," Stacy remarked sarcastically.

"With that attitude, maybe not." Mary raised her eyebrows at her daughter in challenge and Stacy gave up her fighting stance, her shoulders slumping.

"Excuse me." Blaine spoke up from where he leaned against the doorway. "If I could borrow Stacy for a second? I really can't stay long."

He went into his old room, which was closer than Stacy's, closing the door after she followed him inside. She tried to continue her agitated pacing but it wasn't a large room and the floor space was further lessened by the number of boxes stacked by the walls, mementos of his teen years. Storage space at his cottage was almost non-existent and since Dwight and Mary kept this room for him with the promise that he always had a place in their home, he saw no reason to not use the space.

Stacy gave up trying to pace and settled for waving her hands frantically as she talked.

"Thank God you're here, Blaine. Sam is totally against me and trying to tell our parents that New York City is the worst place, he's all but said I'm going to get mugged and raped the second I get off the plane, and-"

"Stacy, stop a minute and listen to me," Blaine said calmly. "You're not doing yourself any favors with this melodramatic teenager act."

"Melo-" She was indignant. "Blaine, I thought you'd be on my side!"

"I am. And I'm trying to help you, if you'll just calm down a moment and give me a chance."

She huffed and crossed her arms. "Fine."

"If you want your parents' support to attend college in New York, you need to prove to them that you're mature enough to handle the challenge. Right now, you're not doing that."

For the first time since he walked in the house, she relaxed a little. "I know. It's just, I want to go so badly, Blaine."

"And that passion can be useful, but you have to temper it with some common sense."

"Okay." She nodded, looking thoughtful. "What do you suggest?"

"First of all, if you don't want Sam involved in the conversation, you have every right to sit down with _only_ your parents and talk to them, alone. Sam's your brother and I'm sure he wants to express his opinion, but he's not the one who gets to decide if you can go. He's also not the one who will be paying your college expenses. So you can ask—in a rational manner—to talk to only your parents."

"Okay…" she said uncertainly, as if it'd never occurred to her that she could exclude Sam from the conversation. "Anything else?"

"Try to think about what objections you think your parents will have to you going, and have your answers ready for them. You need to prove you've done your research, that you know what to expect, and that you're ready for whatever college in New York can throw at you. Go to them armed with facts, and proof, not just 'I'll figure this out later.' Convince them that you can be an adult."

Her mouth quirked. "I'm only seventeen, you know."

"I know. But you want to convince them that in just a few short months, you'll be enough of an adult to live far away from them, on your own. You'll convince them by being calm, and presenting your case rationally." She nodded again, and he hoped he'd gotten through to her. "Are you ready to go back out there?"

"Not really." Her eyes filled with tears. "This is all I've wanted for years, Blaine. What if I can't convince them? There's so much riding on this, that's why I wanted you here. Just for support, you know? Especially since Stevie bailed on me."

"Where is he, anyway?"

"Went riding on the four-wheeler to the camp out in the woods. Said he'd rather be there than stay here, listening to all the shouting."

"Hmm," Blaine said noncommittedly, thinking of how he'd been able to hear Sam and Stacy arguing from out in the yard. He personally didn't blame Stevie for wanting to avoid the drama.

"Can you stay a while, Blaine?" she asked plaintively.

"I promised Kurt that I'd spend this afternoon with him and his parents. It's his last day here."

"Right. He's a really cool guy, Blaine. And I'm not just saying that because he's on Broadway. I was watching you two at the party last night, and you just look so comfortable with him. Like you two belong together, you know?"

Blaine smiled, pleased that someone else saw the chemistry between them, before seeing the speculative look in his cousin's eyes.

"Hold on…you're not just saying that to take advantage of a connection, are you? Stacy…" He let her name sound half joking, half warning.

"No! You two really do look good together, Blaine. And I want you to be happy." She paused for effect, then continued, "Of course, if you two _happened_ to get married and then I was related to an established Broadway actor, not like I'd complain or anything…"

"Stacy!" He pushed her playfully and she flopped back on the bed, flinging her arms wide and looking at the ceiling, making no attempt to get up as she continued, laughing.

"And then after you got married, you could have little Broadway babies and live happily ever after. It would be a fairytale played out on the Great White Way, that started _here_."

"Great White Way, huh? What makes you think we would live in New York?" Blaine asked the question in the spirit of playing along, but he was curious to hear what she'd say.

She pushed up on her elbows so she could see him. "Well, duh. It's not like he'd move here, Blaine. He can't be a Broadway performer here. But you could be a teacher there," she pointed out.

"Simple as that, huh?"

"Well, it's not like you have parents to convince," she pointed out. "You're an adult, you get to do what you want."

Blaine leaned back against his old desk, cluttered with pictures and various bric-a-brac. "I also wouldn't have parents to help support me, and you know your parents will help you pay for college," he replied.

She sat up fully and crossed her legs, frog-style, looking at him seriously. "Can I ask you something, Blaine?"

"Sure."

"Why didn't you go?" For a moment, he could only look at her, not sure how to answer. "I remember you talking about it, when I was little. You were so excited about it, and then…you just didn't go. What stopped you? Was it because of your dad?"

"Partially," Blaine admitted. "I mean, not like he could have forbid me from moving wherever I wanted, once I turned eighteen. But he wouldn't help me pay for the move, so I ended up staying here for college. And then I planned to go after graduation, but…you know what happened that year."

She sighed. "Yeah. Mom got sick. You and Sam moved back home."

"Yeah. And then, by the time the dust settled, I was teaching and loved it so I decided to stay a little longer…"

"And you're still here. That's the part I don't get, Blaine. It's been years, and you're still here. When did you give up on leaving this place?"

He opened and closed his mouth twice, at a loss. "I don't know," he finally admitted. "It's not like it's so bad here, you know."

"Of course not. It's home, and I'll always come back here. But…I'm so afraid, Blaine." Her eyes filled with tears, and he knew they were sincere. He'd seen Stacy produce tears on cue when acting a scene, but this was all her, just honest emotion on display.

"What are you afraid of?"

"That I'll get stuck here. I mean, I know you had your reasons for staying here, and you helped out the family and that was great of you, but after that it was like you just couldn't leave. This place…it sucks you in, makes you feel like you _can't_ leave. I've seen it with the people who graduated one or two years ahead of me. They're still here, and they'll probably never leave. I don't want that to happen to me. It just feels like I have to make this happen now. This is my chance. I don't want to blow it."

For a moment, Blaine could almost hear his own voice saying those same exact words. He remembered how it felt to be close to high school graduation, and with his adult life right there, so close he could nearly touch it. All those possibilities, all that freedom…and all the responsibilities of making his own choices. Had he made the right ones?

"Then don't," he said, trying to sound as calm and steady as he could, trying not to show how much Stacy's words had started up a turmoil in him. "Go after what you want, and remember what I said. Balance all the passion and conviction with some common sense and maturity. Go to your parents with a plan."

"Everything you said makes sense, Blaine. I just don't know if I can do all the stuff you said."

He smiled, an oft-taught lesson from their mutual drama teacher coming to mind. "Remember what Midder D always said, when we weren't sure we were ready for a certain role?"

She laughed softly. "Yeah. Fake it till you make it," she recited.

"Right. If you're not feeling confident right now, then just fake it. Think of it as an acting exercise," he suggested.

"Right. Just fake it." She unfolded her legs and stood, taking a deep breath, and Blaine could swear that she stood two inches taller as she released it.

"Thank you for coming to help," she said, giving him a quick hug.

With a final roll of her shoulders, she marched across the room to open the door. Blaine waited, and could hear Stacy calmly asking her mother if she could sit down with both her parents later in the afternoon to talk. Only when he'd heard Mary agree and Stacy passed by the door again on her way to her own bedroom, did Blaine leave the bedroom where he'd spent his teen years.

"Tragedy averted?" he asked Mary jokingly. She sat at the beat-up wooden table, peeling shrimp.

"For the moment. Shoo," she said to a cat that was rubbing against her leg and purring, hopeful for a delicacy to be thrown its way. "Put that one out, will you, Blaine?"

He scooped the cat up and crossed the front deck to drop it outside the screen door, seeing the irritated twitch of the fluffy black tail. He stopped as he re-entered the room to straighten a wooden fish that hung next to the door—the room was full of ocean and seafood-themed decorations—before turning back to Mary, who spoke without taking her eyes from the task of deveining a particularly large shrimp.

"Thanks for coming over to support Stacy. I swear, I'll be glad when her college plans are settled. At least she's our youngest. If we can get her off to school, in a few more years we won't be mommicked with this college stress anymore."

"You're all going to sit down and discuss it this afternoon?" he asked.

"Yes…God help us. She's hell-bent on this New York thing, and I don't want to stand in her way but I'm not sure I can send my baby that far away."

Blaine nodded sympathetically. "Good luck. I need to get Merida in the truck and drop her back at the cottage, then head over to Atlantic Beach. I told Kurt I'd spend today with him."

"Your dog's long gone by now, Blaine. Dwight and Sam ended up going to the camp in the woods where Stevie is, and all the dogs followed them. Leave her here tonight. We'll feed her with the other dogs and you can get her tomorrow."

"Thanks, Mary." He bent over to aim a light kiss at her temple, feeling a rush of gratefulness that he had a family like this. Perhaps it was a small thing, just leaving his dog overnight, but it was the easy and casual way that his aunt suggested it that made him happy to be a part of this family. They took care of each other, and all their pets, and they were part of the community here. "I'll pick her up tomorrow. I might be with Kurt till late."

"Hmm. Blaine?" she called as he walked away.

"Yes?"

"I really liked Kurt, when we met at the party last night. And his parents are good people. You tell them I said hello."

"Will do." Smiling again, Blaine made his way out into the yard, and—after checking under the truck to be sure no cats were taking advantage of the shade under there—pulled out and started down the long driveway. He paused at the mailbox at the end of the dirt road to send Kurt a text.

 _Omw._

Blaine arrived at the Hummel's beach house in time to eat lunch with them, which was great since he'd skipped breakfast in his hurry that morning. They enjoyed chicken salad from the Fresh Market on Bridges Street—Blaine recognized it as one he'd bought for himself many times—along with crackers, fruit salad, iced tea, and cubes of cheese. They ate on the back deck, with all the storm windows open and the ocean breeze whipping through, causing them to hold on to their napkins.

From their conversation while they ate, Blaine learned several more very interesting facts about Kurt Hummel. Burt let slip that Kurt had been a cheerleader in high school, and Blaine's mouth dropped open at the thought of Kurt in those butt-hugging pants that the male cheerleaders wore. He covered by shoving another cracker in his mouth, and refocused his attention on Kurt, who was saying that his squad went all the way to Nationals.

"That's impressive. I'm guessing that you went to a large high school, with better funding than we have here."

"Not really, no. What we had going for us was a cutthroat cheer coach, who wouldn't accept anything less than a Nationals trophy. She's the reason I made it to cheer nationals with the team…and also the reason I only cheered for the one season."

"Ahh. Leadership makes a difference. Our squad has only made it as far as Regionals, and only the once. They made it that one year because their squad captain was determined to end her high school career on a high note, and she was willing to do whatever she had to, to make it happen…including some unconventional recruiting."

"Unconventional?" Carole questioned. "You know you're going to have to explain that."

"Yes, tell us about this unconventional recruit," Kurt said. He leaned his elbows on the table, amidst the empty plates and crumpled napkins, giving every indication of settling in for a story.

"Well, back when I first started teaching, that idiotic bathroom law was still in effect. It was overturned a couple years later, but I remember it was still law my first year of teaching, because we had a trans student at the high school."

"That couldn't have been easy for the kid," Kurt commented. "Boy or girl?"

"Trans girl. Sydney. Her family moved here when she was a sophomore, and I think she'd just started transitioning right before the move, but from the first day of school here, she presented as a girl. She told me once that that when they moved here, she figured that was as good a time as any to make the full switch. She donated all her boy clothes, bought a lot of dresses and makeup, and committed to living fully as a girl. Her parents were floundering, trying to figure out how best to support her, but trying their best. So Sydney was doing pretty well, from what I could see. Except for the bathroom situation. NC wasn't enlightened enough at the time to have gender-neutral single bathrooms for the students."

"Someone found out she was born a boy?" Carole guessed.

"Yeah, and it could have been prevented if the staff had just paid attention," Blaine said. He was still irritated after all these years, at the damage that might have resulted from his co-workers' negligence. "She was still listed as a boy on school records, so at the beginning of the school year when the students were separated by gender to have their one sex ed class, she was told to go with the boys."

"Can't imagine that led to anything good for her," Kurt commented sympathetically.

"No. I gathered that she had it rough for a while. I mean, I felt the tension and it wasn't even me. But just knowing there was a kid in the hallways who might be getting harassed while changing classes…I can't imagine what it would have been like for her."

"So how did she handle the bathroom situation?" Burt asked.

"To be honest, I think for the first couple weeks after she was outed, she would just hold it all day. Then one day she asked to be excused in the middle of class—I guess she thought if she went while class was in session she could get in and out with no one else there to object—but she was seen coming out of the girls' bathroom and harassed. A group of boys were passing by on their way back from a meeting with their coach to prepare for a competition."

"Let me guess," Kurt said wearily. "The football team? Or some other testosterone-laden sports stars?"

"Actually, no. Science geeks. They were on their way back from conferring with their advisor about a robotics competition."

"Wow. Wouldn't have expected it of the science geeks. They're usually the targets, you'd think they know how it felt to get bullied."

"They did," Blaine confirmed. "I'd seen them getting bullied myself, and sent their tormentors to the principal. I guess this was a case of the bullied becoming the aggressors. They'd finally found someone that they felt more manly than."

"That's not being a man," Burt muttered, his expression dark.

"No. Luckily for Sydney, not all of them were okay with it. One of them—the youngest, smallest, scrawniest kid there—ran to the nearest classroom to get a teacher. The nearest classroom happened to be mine. I broke it up, and sent most of the science team to the principal for disciplinary action. The thing is, I don't think the science team would have done any physical harm. I couldn't imagine them going past verbal harassment. And yet, when I showed up, I could see how scared Sydney looked, and how relieved she was to see a teacher. After that, I told her to meet me at the staff bathroom after lunch each day, when I had my planning period, and I'd unlock the private bathroom for her."

"So…a lonely high school experience, with none of the girl bonding that goes on in the bathrooms, but a safe one," Carole summarized.

"Yeah. Went on like that for a while. But eventually she found her way in."

"Cheerleading?" Burt asked.

"Yep. She went out for the squad—and made it."

"Wow," Kurt said in disbelief. "Unless your cheerleaders are a different breed than I remember from my high school days, that was a _gutsy_ move."

Blaine was already shaking his head, smiling. "I'm pretty sure our cheerleaders are just as clique-ish as anywhere else. But…the head cheerleader was in her senior year, and was determined they'd make it to regional cheer championships before she graduated. She was putting together a team that could get her there."

"Ahh. Bring It On style of leadership?"

"You got it." Blaine affirmed.

"Hold on, are we talking Skylar or Campbell?"

"Skylar."

"Translation?" Burt asked, looking put out at being left out of the code speak.

"Ambitious enough to work hard and not above using her social status in pursuit of her goals, but she wouldn't stoop so low as to arrange an accident for an opposing team member that would result in injury right before a competition," Kurt explained.

"I'm starting to be glad that you only cheered the one year."

"So she went out for the cheer squad," Blaine continued. "And you're right, Kurt. It was a gutsy move, and it paid off. See, the head cheerleader realized that a cheerleader who was taller and stronger than the average teenage girl could be useful to the squad. They needed someone like Sydney to be the bottom of the pyramid, to pick up the smaller girls for their lift poses, stuff like that. We didn't have any guys on the team back then—we have two now—but back then, they needed really strong girls to fill that need. So Sydney made the team, and turned out she was an awesome cheerleader. I think some of the squad were against her being on the team at first, but once they saw how much she contributed, they accepted her and that gave her a certain level of immunity with the rest of the school. Once she was in with the cheerleaders, and they started treating her as one of them, her high school career got a lot easier."

"And was she welcomed into the girls' bathroom to trade makeup tips?" Kurt asked.

"Oh yeah."

"Whoever this Sydney is, I have to give her credit," Carole said. "That took nerve."

"Glad that story has a happy ending," Kurt nodded. "So many of them don't, especially ten or twenty years ago."

"It's a work in progress, right Kurt?" Burt asked. "The laws are better now than they used to be, offer more protection for you two, for girls like Sydney, for all the kids growing up now who are afraid to come out. But there's still a ways to go.

"My dad served in the Ohio Congress, back when I was in high school," Kurt said proudly. "Some of the laws on the books today, offering equal rights to the LGBT community, are the ones he supported and campaigned for back then."

"In that case, thank you, Congressman Hummel." Blaine gave him a mock salute.

"Thank you, but it's _former_ Congressman," he corrected. "I put in my time, and I was glad to help make a difference, but I was glad when it was over, too. Then I could go back to working on vehicles, and running my business. I could spend more time with my family."

"Dad and Carole have come out to New York for every show that I've been in, and several other visits too," Kurt said, his pride evident. "I'm trying to convince them to retire to New York."

"Kurt, honey….I don't think it's really what we're looking for." She patted his hand as she said it, and Blaine could tell they'd had this conversation before. "If we're going to move anywhere for retirement, it'll be somewhere with significantly lower snowfall and cost of living than Ohio. New York doesn't qualify."

"Yeah, the big city's for you young folk," Burt said, as an extra-strong gust of wind blew through the deck, toppling over Blaine's empty glass and spilling half-melted ice cubes across the table.

"Looks like it's time to take everything inside," Carole announced, standing up.

The four of them worked together to take everything in, put the leftovers in the refrigerator, and the dirty dishes in the dishwasher. Blaine asked where the bathroom was as they were finishing up, and when he came back Kurt called to him from one of the bedrooms.

"I want to show you something," Kurt said, pulling a tablet from a carry-on bag. He punched in the passcode as he sat on the bed, inviting Blaine to sit next to him with a nod of his head.

Blaine perched on the edge of the mattress, looking over Kurt's shoulder as he opened a program that he was unfamiliar with. After opening a file, he handed the tablet to Blaine. One the screen was a computer-drawn rendering of a costume…it was plainly the costume which Blaine was meant to look at, as the drawing only suggested the minimal outline of a woman wearing the costume, and there was no background or anything else on the screen. And these were not modern clothes, otherwise he might think that Kurt was simply showing him a current fashion that he particularly liked. In the corner of the screen was a scribbled set of initials, KEH.

"Did…did you design this?" he asked, looking up.

"Yeah." Kurt was clearly proud of his work but trying to play it low-key. "There's a few more, just swipe across."

Blaine did and took the time to study each rendering, looking at the overall effect then zooming in to study the details, which Kurt had clearly spent some care in depicting.

"These are amazing," he said, when he'd reached the last one. "Are they for a show? I mean, they look like theatre costumes, but I thought you were an actor?"

Kurt nodded. "I have been, for the past decade. I'm thinking about making a change."

"Wow. That's, umm…that would be a pretty big deal, right? You've spent a decade establishing yourself as an actor and now you're going to give that up?"

"Yeah. It's a big decision." Kurt scooted back on the bed and turned to face Blaine, hitching one knee up on the mattress. "But the more I think about it, the more convinced I am that this could be a good career switch for me."

Blaine nodded, absorbing that for a moment. He didn't understand, but then again, he didn't need to. It was Kurt's decision. It looked like he just wanted someone to be a sounding board. Blaine handed the tablet back and mirrored Kurt's pose, so he could face him and give him his full attention.

"Tell me about it," he requested.

He sat and listened while Kurt described how he'd always loved fashion, and had strongly considered it as a career route instead of acting. He talked about how much he loved the theatre, and loved performing, but after a decade the rigorous physical demands and grueling schedule were wearing on him.

"So I thought, if I made the switch to theatre costume design, it'd be the best of both worlds, you know? I'd still be working in the theatre, and I could use some of the connections I've made. I'd still be in New York, which is a no-brainer because I love the city. But I'd get a chance to do something totally different. It'd be a new challenge. And the more I think about it, the more excited I get."

And his excitement was showing in his eyes, in the way he gestured with his hands as he talked. It reminded Blaine a bit of his talk with Stacy this morning. Both of them so full of conviction, not afraid of anything…as much as his cousin had confessed to her fears, Blaine knew that when the time came she would barrel ahead and leave doubt in the dust. Kurt had moved to New York when he was eighteen, and Blaine had no doubt that Stacy would too. He wished he had just an ounce of their courage.

"So tell me how you'd get started with this new career endeavor," he asked.

"Well, it's not like I can be expected to design costumes for a show right away. I'll need to start almost from the bottom. I'm putting feelers out among the costumers I know. I'm hoping I can land a job sewing costumes, or as a costuming assistant. Hopefully that will get me my foot in the door and I can move forward from there."

Blaine nodded and was about to wish Kurt good luck when his phone vibrated in his back pocket. Pulling it out, he saw Stacy's name and rolling his eyes, showed the screen to Kurt.

"Should I answer?" he asked.

"Well, from what you said about this morning…she might have a panic attack if you don't. And no one panics like an aspiring teenage thespian. I'd answer if I were you."

With a grin, Blaine answered the call and put it on speaker. "Hi, Stace. I've got you on speaker and Kurt's here too."

"Kurt! Great, you're the one I called to talk to."

"Stacy, I'm hurt," Blaine said, injecting all the mock pain he could into his voice.

"Blaine, you know you're my favorite," she assured him, her voice coming tinny through the speaker. "But I need to talk to someone who's lived in New York."

"Go ahead, Stacy." Kurt leaned forward to speak into the phone. Blaine could feel his breath on his hand, and nearly shivered. "What's your question?"

"So if I wanted to rent an apartment, what's the best way to find one? How do I know which neighborhoods are safe, and which landlords are fair, all that stuff?"

"Well, there are businesses that will help you find an apartment, but the good ones cost a lot of money. To be honest, unless you can afford those high finder's fees, your best bet is word of mouth."

Blaine handed his phone to Kurt and jerked his head at the door to indicate that he was leaving the room for a moment, and went out into the hallway with Stacy sighing melodramatically behind him.

"Great. I can hardly listen to word-of-mouth if I'm not there."

Blaine shook his head and wandered back out to the kitchen, where Burt was popping a beer open.

"Kurt on the phone?" he asked.

"With my cousin Stacy. I told him he'd regret offering to help her. I just came out for something to drink." Burt raised his beer in silent question, but he shook his head.

"Help yourself to whatever you want in the fridge. Glasses in that cabinet."

He found some orange juice and took his first swallow, letting the tart sweetness cool his throat, listening to Kurt's voice drift out from the bedroom.

"So uh…I know this is none of my business really, but have you and Kurt talked about staying in touch after this week?"

"Umm, no. Not really. I mean, we have each other's phone numbers, so we can get in touch if we want. But we kinda knew from the start that Kurt would only be here for a week."

Burt nodded, not saying anything, as Carole came in from the deck.

"It's still beautiful out there. A little windy, but such a gorgeous day. Who'd like to go for a walk on the beach?"

"I'd love to," Blaine answered, as Burt looked out the window then nodded to his wife. "Let me see if I can get Kurt off the phone long enough to ask him."

It took several minutes before Kurt finished his conversation with Stacy, then he sent out a group text to several friends in NYC, asking if anyone knew of an apartment available in the next few months, before they headed out to the beach. Kurt asked if Blaine wanted to borrow a jacket, but Blaine declined. He went jogging on this beach often enough, even early in the morning when it was much cooler than now. He was used to the chilly ocean breeze.

They strolled along, with Burt and Carole in the lead, linked arm-in-arm. Blaine and Kurt followed a little way behind them, not talking much at first. Blaine was remembering the morning, not even a week ago, when he'd met Kurt on this very beach. He wondered if Kurt was thinking of the same thing.

It had been a great week, spending time with Kurt and getting to know him. His family too, Blaine added, looking at the older couple walking ahead of them. Tomorrow Kurt would leave, and chances were that Blaine would never see him again.

"I guess you won't get to show me that lighthouse," Kurt said, breaking into Blaine's thoughts.

"I'm sorry?" He forced himself to focus on what Kurt was saying.

"The lighthouse. You said that your ancestor helped build it? And we could only get there by boat?"

"Right. The Cape Lookout lighthouse. I didn't think you were interested." He raised his voice to be heard over the crashing of the waves.

"I didn't think I was," Kurt admitted. "But it's starting to really sink in that in twenty-four hours, I'll be back in New York. And the city is my home now, and I'll be happy to get back there…it's just, when I first got here I didn't think I'd regret leaving at the end of the week." He stopped walking, a hand on Blaine's arm to pause him, and looked at him intently. "All of a sudden, I feel like there are so many things I should have done this week, that I won't ever get the chance to do."

Blaine's chest was tight, just from the light pressure of Kurt's fingers on his arm. "Well, if umm….if you really want to see the lighthouse, it's not too late. We could go this afternoon if you want."

Kurt hesitated, and looked ahead to his dad and Carole, getting further ahead. "I'd hate to leave this afternoon. I should spend it with my family, since I won't see them again for a while."

"Do you think they'd be interested in going?" Blaine asked. "You could do both."

"Hmm. Don't know." Kurt started walking again, calling out. "Hey Dad, got a question for you."

They caught up and discussed it, but Burt and Carole stated that they'd planned on a quiet day in at their temporary home and declined. They encouraged them to go, however.

Kurt shook his head. "I don't want to go off without you on my last day here. I'm leaving tomorrow."

"Kurt, go. You two have fun. Us old folk will be in bed by 9:00 anyway."

"In other words, stay out as late as you want," Carole said, all but winking at the pair of them. Blaine smothered a grin. Was it his imagination, or was Carole trying to enable alone time for him and Kurt?

"But Dad…" Kurt was still protesting.

"Look, kid, do you want to go or not?"

"Yes," Kurt confirmed, glancing at Blaine. "But I don't-"

"Tell you what. You go with Blaine now, have fun seeing this lighthouse or whatever else is on the agenda, and promise me you'll be back in time to have breakfast with us tomorrow morning before we drive you to the airport."

Blaine almost held his breath as he waited for Kurt to decide, while at the same time wondered what Burt meant by the 'whatever else' he'd mentioned. More importantly, what did Kurt think it meant? What did Blaine want it to mean?

Kurt hesitated, scrutinizing both of them to be sure they were sincere, and finally nodded. "Okay. Thanks, Dad. Thanks, Carole." He looked at Blaine. "I guess we have a boat to catch?"

Blaine grinned, pulling his phone from his pocket. "Let me just call Dwight and tell him we're taking the skiff out. We'll have to drive down to their house to pick it up."

Carole and Burt waved good-bye and continued on their walk down the beach, while Blaine turned back with Kurt, making plans on the phone for the evening ahead.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Please note that the rating goes up slightly for the second half of this chapter. I'd rank it as a mild M. It's the only chapter in the entire fic that I anticipate will go above a Teen rating, so I'm going to leave that rating on the fic as a whole.**

* * *

It took some time before everything was ready and they pushed the small boat (a skiff, Blaine called it) off from the dock. Kurt hadn't realized how much went into getting ready to take a boat out. The few times he'd been on boats, like the ferries that toured New York Harbor for instance, he just walked on. He realized now that the crew had done a lot of prep work before the loads of tourists arrived.

Blaine had called his uncle as they walked back on the beach, confirming that the boat he wanted to use was available for the afternoon. Then they climbed into Blaine's pickup truck and drove first to his cottage, where he picked up a small cooler and filled it with food and water.

"We'll probably end up eating while we're out there," he explained. "We can picnic on the beach."

"You and your picnics," Kurt teased with a grin.

It turned out the boat was docked ("Not parked, Kurt," Blaine informed him when he asked what he thought was an innocent question. "You _dock_ a boat.") in a harbor that was a further fifteen-minute drive past the Evans house and seemed to hold mostly what Blaine called shrimp boats. From the smell of things, the boats ran on noxious fumes and the daily catch from the past decade was rotting under each dock. Kurt tried to hide his reaction to the smell, but it was all around him. Blaine noticed his face.

"Sorry," he said. "The odors kinda build up when you have a harbor dedicated to working boats that bring in seafood every day. I got used to it years ago. Try breathing through your mouth, we'll be out of here soon."

Kurt nodded, and tried to help with preparations so they could be underway as soon as possible. He handed the cooler to Blaine, already in the boat, and then waited on the dock while he checked that there were two life preservers, flares, and other safety equipment in the front.

"It shouldn't even be a question, because that safety equipment is supposed to stay on the boat. But occasionally, if one of us takes a group out on one of the larger boats and we need extra life preservers, we'll borrow them from the skiff, or from a friend who's not planning to be out on the water that day. Or sometimes friends will borrow them from us, and people don't always remember to bring them back. Dwight trained all of us to never push back from the dock without checking. He says it's just like putting on your seat belt every time you drive a car."

"And what are the odds of us needing the life preservers today?" Kurt asked.

"Well…I've lived here for over half my life now, and never had to abandon ship." Blaine grinned up at him, looking at ease on the boat. "I'd say our odds are good of coming back in one piece. C'mon."

Blaine pulled on the rope still tied to the dock to bring the skiff as close as possible to where Kurt stood, before holding a hand out to him. Kurt hesitated, looking at the ripples radiating out from the boat, still rocking gently from being moved.

"How do I do this, exactly?" he asked. "Without pitching myself into the water?"

"It's easier than it looks," Blaine said, hand still held out. "Especially since it's high tide and the boat is close to the dock. Just hold my hand, crouch down on the dock, and step one foot at a time into the middle of the boat. It'll rock a little, but I'm sure you can keep your balance. You're a dancer, right? So this should be easy."

Steeling himself, Kurt took the offered hand and did as he'd been told till both feet were in the boat. He tightened his core and every other muscle group in his body to maintain his wide stance, till the boat became mostly still.

"Umm, Kurt?"

"Yeah?"

"Could you, umm…ease up a bit? You're holding on kind of tight."

Kurt realized that he'd grabbed hold of Blaine's shoulder and was maintaining a death grip on him. He was holding on to his hand almost as tightly.

"Sorry," he said, forcing his fingers to relax. He kept hold though, because the wood he stood on was still swaying slightly from side to side.

"It's fine. Why don't you sit down, and we'll push back from the dock."

Cautiously, and maintaining his hold on Blaine because if Kurt fell off this floating fun ride then Blaine was going over too, he managed to sit on the bench in the middle of the skiff. He felt much steadier once he'd lowered his center of gravity.

"You good?" Blaine asked, and Kurt nodded as he finally loosened his grip. "Alrighty then…let's get going."

Several minutes later, after a noisy start of the motor that made Kurt cough with its exhaust, they were maneuvering out of the harbor and into a larger body of water. Blaine sat in the back to navigate. Kurt wanted to move to the back as well, and sit next to Blaine so they could talk on the ride. But Blaine nixed that idea, explaining that on a boat as small as this one, they needed to keep their weight distributed. And the noise of the engine would have made conversation difficult anyway. So Kurt sat in the middle of the boat, and watched the scenery go by.

Once they were out of the harbor, and moving forward at a steady clip that created a nice breeze, the objectionable odors of the shrimp boats faded. It was replaced with the briny smell that seemed to permanently exist in the air here. With conversation nearly impossible, and with his body adjusting to the gentle up and down motion of the skiff as it cut through the water, Kurt relaxed his grip on the bench and observed the various land masses as they passed by. Some were clearly inhabited, with houses visible on the shore. But there were also what appeared to be small islands where no human habitation seemed possible, based on the amount of undergrowth that spread wild between twisted trees.

It was over an hour later, and the sun was getting lower in the sky, when the lighthouse came into view on the horizon. Kurt recognized its distinctive diamond pattern from pictures he'd seen in the visitor center at Fort Macon. It took another twenty minutes, at least, before Blaine cut the engine and let the skiff coast till its bow ran aground in the sand. An anchor was thrown over before Blaine stepped past Kurt where he was still seated on the bench, not presuming anything till he received instructions. Blaine squatted on the bow of the skiff, giving Kurt a nice view of his ass muscles tightening, before jumping down to land on the beach.

"I hope you didn't come all this way just to look at the lighthouse from the boat," he said, his eyes laughing at Kurt. "You rode on the boat for an hour, you should walk up and touch it."

"Right." He stood, finding to his confusion that his legs were a bit shaky under him, and made his way to the front where he copied Blaine and made the hop to the sand, narrowly avoiding the water. Blaine steadied him with hands at his waist.

"Balance feel a bit off?" Blaine asked.

"A little, yeah."

"Don't worry, you'll get your sea legs. And now that you've set foot on land, let me officially welcome you to the Cape Lookout National Seashore."

Kurt looked around at Blaine's dramatic gesture, encompassing all of the island within view, but didn't see anything but sand, sea grass, and water. Then more sand, sea grass, and water, with the lighthouse looming in the distance. It was late afternoon by now and the sun was starting to set, casting the lighthouse in bright light on one side and shadow on the other.

"It's…. different from any other national park I've ever visited," he said at last.

Blaine just laughed, reaching down for his hand. "C'mon, let's go look at the lighthouse."

It was a longer walk to the tall building than it looked like. They didn't talk much, and Kurt focused on walking on the slippery sand till they made their slipping, sliding progress up a sand dune, past a lone white house, and finally stood next to the Cape Lookout lighthouse.

Blaine stepped up to it, and placed one hand on the brick, closing his eyes.

"Communing with your ancestor?" Kurt asked.

Blaine smiled without opening his eyes. "Something like that." He placed both hands on it, and was silent, while Kurt waited, letting him have his moment. He dropped his hands and turned to elaborate, "I just like reminding myself that my family in this area goes back so many generations. For a kid who grew up bouncing from place to place, never having one place that I called home till I was a teenager, it means a lot to know I have roots here."

Kurt looked up at it, unable to see anything but its black-and-white diamond pattern, and even that was distorted at this angle.

"Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair!" he called up the length of the tower, unable to resist.

"Hmm….I'm sure the lighthouse keeper has heard that before. If they can even hear you up there."

"Someone's actually up there?" He turned to look at Blaine, though his face was in shadow with the sun setting.

"Nah, not really." Kurt could hear the smile in his voice. "Though I'd laugh my ass off if some maintenance guy happened to be up there today and yelled back down at you…or tossed down a rope."

"Did there used to be lighthouse keepers?" Kurt asked, curious.

"Oh, yeah. The keepers used to live in that house right there, usually with their families. They'd homeschool the kids and raise their own livestock and produce, were very self-sufficient."

"They raised livestock here?" Kurt turned to look at the land around them, nothing but sand, water, and that tough dune grass for miles. "I'm no farmer, but this doesn't look like farmland to me. What did the animals eat?"

"Remember those horses I showed you, on the island across from the Beaufort waterfront? They've lived on that island for generations with very little human intervention. Their bodies adapted to survive on the marsh grass. I'm sure the livestock here did the same, with maybe some hay brought over from the mainland during the winter."

"Hmm. Can't imagine living such an isolated life. How long were there full-time keepers here?"

"Up until…the 1950s, I think? That's when it became fully automated. Though I think that for a lot of years after that, people could volunteer to be lightkeepers. They didn't have anything to do, really….it was more just a chance to have a beach retreat for a few days. Write their great American novel, that sort of thing."

"I suppose I can see the appeal in that, just for a few days. But I'm sure after that, I'd be itching to get back to the city."

"Like you're itching now?" Blaine asked quietly.

Kurt considered the question. "Yes…and no. I'll be glad to get back, but…I'm going to miss this place far more than I thought I would when I arrived a week ago. I'll miss you."

The moment stretched between them, only the sound of the waves lapping against the beach to break the silence between them, before Blaine confessed, "I'm going to miss you too. I thought my spring break was going to be so dull and monotonous, till I met you that day on the beach."

"We've still got tonight," Kurt reminded him.

Blaine's mouth quirked, and humor glinted in his eyes, letting Kurt know what he was going to do before he sang softly, "Who needs tomorrow? We've got tonight, babe…why don't you stay?"

"You dork!" Kurt accused, giving him a playful shove. "Now you've gone and ruined the moment."

Blaine's hand slid down to capture his. "How about a romantic walk down the beach in the moonlight? We'll grab the picnic basket from the boat, and find a spot where we can see the lighthouse from a distance, and see if we can recapture the moment?"

Kurt pulled him closer for a kiss, one mixed with the salt in the ocean breeze, then nodded. Fingers laced, they strolled down the beach, only stopping long enough for Blaine to climb back onto the skiff and retrieve the basket he'd tucked under the bow, behind a closed panel where it stayed protected from the water spray on their journey to the Cape.

They didn't say anything as they made their way along the water's edge. Kurt started to, a couple times, but….what was there to say? He was leaving tomorrow. Barring one of them deciding on a radical change of address, their two lives were far apart and not compatible. Part of him wanted to curse the unfairness of it all, that he'd met this wonderful man that he felt he clicked with so well, but they wanted different things out of life and he just couldn't see how they would make a long-term relationship work.

"How about here?" Blaine asked, indicating a stretch of sand that looked no different than any other patch of beach.

They sat down right in the sand and pulled food from the basket to snack on, making small talk, but Kurt's heart wasn't really in it, not like that day they'd picnicked at Fort Macon. The first time a bright beam of light flashed over them, it jarred him out of his semi-daze to look over his shoulder at the lighthouse. It was nearly dark now, the full moon was rising, and the lighthouse had awoken to do its duty for another night.

"It's a much nicer view from back here, isn't it?" Blaine asked.

"Yeah. Kind of like going to see the Statue of Liberty. Better to take one of the tour boats through the harbor than go on the island itself."

"I always wanted to see the Statue of Liberty," Blaine mused. "Are you going to eat any more?"

Kurt shook his head, so Blaine repacked the basket and set it behind them, but made no move to get up. Instead he propped his elbows on his knees, gazing out at the water. Kurt scooted over next to him, copying his pose and looking out over the water as well, trying to see….whatever it was that Blaine saw out there.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked finally.

"Eternity." Blaine never took his eyes from the water and the moon's reflection on the waves.

"That's, umm…deeper than I was expecting. Care to elaborate?"

"There's something about looking out on the ocean, and the vastness of it, the cycle of the waves that's been going on since the beginning of time….I feel a part of it. My dad's family is from here, my mom was born in the Philippines where her family lived for generations…island life is in my blood. The ocean is this living, breathing entity that's in my blood. The water makes me feel connected to my past, but…at the same time, it makes me realize how small I am. How my life doesn't really count for much in the grand scheme of things. I mean no more to the ocean than one of the shells it tosses up on the shore."

Blaine shivered suddenly, and glanced at Kurt.

"You got all philosophical on me," Kurt said softly.

"I suppose I did." Blaine shivered again, and Kurt got up, sitting on his knees behind him and wrapping his arms around him to share his body warmth. Blaine leaned back into him, his hands coming up to hold Kurt's where they crossed his chest. "Do you ever get philosophical about New York?" he asked eventually.

Kurt smiled, though he knew that Blaine couldn't see it. "New Yorkers are too busy getting to their next destination to wax poetic," he replied. He thought about it a moment, closing his eyes and trying to block out the sounds of the waves to recreate his city in his mind. He gathered Blaine closer, widening his straddled knees to settle lower into the sand and pull him into the cradle of his body. "If I had to make a comparison though, I'd call it a heartbeat."

"Tell me more," Blaine responded, relaxing back into him and stretching his legs out in the sand, crossed at the ankles.

"It's….you know how you referred to the ocean as a living, breathing thing?"

"Hm-mmm."

"With the city, it's more like a heartbeat. New York has a pulse, its own rhythm."

"A very fast pulse, based on what I remember," Blaine added.

"If a doctor were to take its pulse, they'd probably think the city was having a panic attack," Kurt said. He could feel, more than hear, Blaine's laugh. "But the city—the people who live in it, I mean—they take all that frantic, coffee-fueled energy and channel it. That's why things are always happening in New York, and why it never sleeps."

"The complete opposite of here, where things don't change," Blaine commented.

"Yeah."

The lighthouse's beam passed over them again, and Kurt rested his head against Blaine's, tightening his grip. The temperature had dropped with the setting of the sun, and his back and legs were getting chilly, but his front, where Blaine covered him, was blissfully warm. He bent his head down further, so he could reach Blaine's cheek and drop a kiss there.

Blaine turned toward him more fully and a hand came up to cup the back of his head, pulling him down for a proper kiss. The angle was awkward, but Kurt didn't care. He could feel his last hours slipping away, and he couldn't think of any better way to spend the remaining time he had in this state, than kissing Blaine.

He seemed to agree, breaking the kiss only long enough to turn around so he was facing Kurt, both of them on their knees in the beach sand, before wrapping arms around his shoulders and reclaiming his mouth. Kurt slipped his hands under Blaine's jacket, finding the hem of his shirt and letting his fingers go past that as well, to touch the bare skin of his back.

Blaine broke contact, gasping. "Holy crap, your hands are cold!"

"Why do you think I put them under your shirt?" Kurt teased, sliding his hands up to his shoulder blades. Blaine shivered, and retaliated by shoving his own hands under Kurt's jacket to warm them against his back. Kurt instinctively arched away from the cold touch, causing Blaine to laugh and grab him tighter, before they both fell over into the sand on their sides, neither relinquishing their grip. Blaine immediately rolled over on him, pinning Kurt underneath his body.

"Ha! Caught ya!" he crowed.

Kurt could feel the sand grinding into the back of his head, and knew he'd be washing it out of his hair later, but ignored it to focus on the beautiful, sexy, intelligent man on top of him. "If you hadn't noticed, Blaine…I wasn't running away." He lifted his head to kiss the end of his nose. "Though if you want to take this any further, I'd like to express my opinion that beach sex is better in theory than in practice…especially at these temps." A gust of wind as he spoke made him shiver, and snatched his words away as he spoke them, making him wonder if Blaine could hear him.

It was too dark to see his face, but Kurt knew from Blaine's sudden stillness that his words had been heard. It was a long moment before Blaine pulled his hands out from under him, and carefully sat up between Kurt's knees, and he tried to hide his disappointment. He'd hoped, since it was his last night here….

"Well, then." Blaine interrupted his thoughts, taking Kurt's hands to pull him up to a seated position. "I happen to have a nice cottage with all modern conveniences, including central heat and a sand-free bed." He stood up and tugged Kurt with him.

"Are you sure, Blaine?" Kurt asked, brushing sand from the seat of his pants. He well remembered their conversation earlier in the week, when Blaine told him that he'd never slept with someone he wasn't in a relationship with and didn't plan to see again.

Blaine ran his fingers through Kurt's hair, dislodging most of the sand that clung to it, and his tentative smile was visible for a split second in the rotating light.

"Yeah. Let's go back to my place."

He turned to lead the way back to the boat, and Kurt's elation dimmed a little when he realized that they had an hour-long ride back to the harbor, and then another thirty minutes in the car after that, before they were back at Blaine's cottage with its promised sand-free bed. He eyed the stretch of beach between them and their way back, wondering—for just a moment—if he could overcome his aversion to beach sex, before telling himself that the coming night with Blaine would surely be worth the wait.

Blaine closed the door quietly behind himself, and leaned back against it. One low lamp had been left on in the living room, providing just enough illumination to see his uncertain expression.

"Hey," Kurt said softly. He stepped closer and took Blaine's fingers loosely in his own. "You still want this, right? You haven't changed your mind since the beach?"

Blaine shook his head, a minute movement that barely rustled the collar of his jacket in the quiet room. "I definitely want this, it's just…."

Kurt waited a moment, finally prompting him. "What?" It was barely more than a whisper.

"You're leaving tomorrow, Kurt. I've never been much for one-night stands or casual flings. I've never even had a friend-with-benefits. I've never slept with someone knowing that it would likely be just that one time, and I may never see him again."

"You're welcome to come visit me in New York," Kurt offered. "If you want to make it more than a one-time thing. Or..." He let his voice trail off and stepped closer still, nudging up under Blaine's exquisite jawline to breathe a light kiss at the hinge of his jaw.

"Or what?"

"We take tonight for what it is," Kurt answered, pulling back to look at him steadily. "Just one night, if that's all we're going to have, and we take every last bit of enjoyment that we can out of the experience." He paused, hoping for an immediate answer, but Blaine still looked unsure.

Kurt stepped back. "I can leave if this is making you uncomfortable," he offered, reaching for the doorknob by Blaine's side. His hand was caught around the wrist.

"Don't leave. I'll take tonight if that's all I'll get, before you run back to your fancy life in the big city, where you have plenty of hot guys to choose from."

"Not that many," Kurt breathed as Blaine was the one to step closer this time. "Not so many that you wouldn't stand out, even there. If I'd met you in New York, you still would have caught my eye. And-"

Whatever he'd been about to say was cut off by Blaine's mouth, as he seemed to make up his mind at last. More forceful than their kisses on the beach had been, his hands firmly gripping Kurt's hips and moving him back till he leaned against the back of the couch. There they paused, mouths working in concert to bring small gasps and moans from each other. Blaine stepped between Kurt's legs, which he obligingly opened for him, and then he wrapped one arm around Kurt's lower back, hiking him up just a little on the couch, bringing their groins in contact.

Kurt broke the kiss and groaned, holding on to Blaine's shoulders for balance as Blaine rocked his hips against him, creating delicious friction. He tried to respond in kind but—precariously balanced on the edge as he was—could only manage minute movements.

"Blaine." His own voice sounded strangled in the empty room. He breathed faster at Blaine's mouth on his neck, even as he tried to pull him away. "Blaine, that's incredible but let's move this to your bedroom and do that same thing again, with less clothes."

Blaine stepped back, and nodded, relaxing his grip on him to allow him to slide his feet to the floor.

"This way," Blaine murmured, turning to lead him. Down a short hall and into a room where no lights were lit, yet he could see the simple furnishings, just a bed and nightstand, a sturdy wooden dresser and a desk. Looking up, Kurt realized the light came from the full moon shining through a skylight, positioned directly over the bed. The windows were cracked open, with just enough breeze coming through the screens to make the curtains billow.

"Do you mind if we don't turn on the light?" Blaine asked, drawing him to the bed and standing beside it, not holding Kurt but just rubbing his fingertips up and down his arms, a touch he could feel even through his windbreaker.

"Are you shy?" Kurt asked, teasing.

"No." Blaine didn't seem to take offense. "It's just…I've always loved the full moon." He looked up at it glowing above them. "My bed isn't in this spot by accident. And-" he stopped, looking down for a second, then back up again to focus on the zipper of Kurt's jacket. "May I?" He toyed with the tab.

Kurt laid a hand over his, stilling it. "What were you about to say?"

Blaine's lips parted and he seemed to stop breathing for a moment, but he looked into Kurt's eyes and said, "I want to see your body in the moonlight."

Kurt looked up again through the skylight, then back down to Blaine, nodding. Blaine's fingers unzipped his jacket, then began loosening his buttons one by one.

"Hmm?" Kurt hummed, a question without words, as he began pulling Blaine's shirt up by slow inches. Each button that Blaine opened on his shirt was another fraction further up for Blaine's own.

When Kurt's jacket and shirt were pushed back off his shoulders to drop on the floor and he stood bare from the waist up, Blaine pushed him back a step, turning him to face fully into the soft light. "I knew it," he breathed out, reaching to trail his fingers down Kurt's chest. He shivered under the touch.

"What did you know?" he asked.

"That you would glow under the moon, like a creature from another world." Kurt almost wanted to laugh. It would sound like such a 'line' from anyone else, but from Blaine…his expression was so intent as he studied Kurt, his expression so serious. Kurt couldn't laugh. Not when the cheesy compliment had been delivered with such absolute sincerity.

He slipped his hands under Blaine's shirt, feeling the abs under his fingers tighten at the contact. "Do I get to see you?" he asked. He slid his hands further up under the shirt, pulling the fabric with it till Blaine shrugged off his jacket then raised his hands, allowing him to pull the shirt off over his head.

Holy shit. Kurt was not a religious man, but he could almost be converted simply by the up-close view of the muscles quivering under Blaine's skin, which in the dimness was a dusky tone several shades darker than his own. Kurt placed a hand, fingers spread wide, in the center of Blaine's chest, admiring the contrast.

"Kurt?"

"Hmm?"

"Say something. You're making me nervous."

Kurt's eyes flicked up to his, seeing the tremulous anticipation there.

"Get on the bed," he whispered, giving a slight push.

Blaine hit the mattress with a _fwump_ and backwards crab-crawled to pull himself up to the pillows, grinning. Kurt toed his shoes off, as Blaine's loafers hit the floor with two quick thumps.

He paused, one knee up on the bed in the act of crawling up it to join Blaine, struck by the sight of him. Maybe there was something to Blaine's fascination with moonlight. Kurt realized, despite the numerous partners he'd had since moving to New York at age eighteen, very much a naïve virgin, that he'd never seen a man like this. He was more accustomed to the light—if there was any—being the blinking lights of the city, than the comforting glow that settled around them now.

"Kurt?"

"Hmm?"

"You're staring."

Kurt let his smile quirk without taking his eyes off that one spot where Blaine's hipbones dipped into his slacks, on their way to meeting in the middle. Kurt wanted to see that spot where they met. He realized Blaine was still waiting for an answer.

"You're worth staring at," he said coyly. He crawled up the rest of the way, hovering on hands and knees over Blaine's body, leaning down to kiss and feeling himself grow harder just from their lips touching, till Blaine reached up and pulled him down.

The full body contact was too much and yet not enough, as Kurt wiggled himself to a more comfortable fit between Blaine's legs, which he parted, letting Kurt settle in. Their cocks lined up through the layers of fabric and this time Kurt was able to take the lead, swiveling his pelvis in small movements. He wasn't the only one who was hard, and he pressed down more insistently, gripping Blaine's shoulders to give himself leverage for one harder thrust which caused Blaine to break the kiss and throw his head back with a groan.

"Kurt…Kurt, stop a second."

He made his hips still. Mostly. He could feel Blaine shifting as well.

"Do you want to stop?" he asked. He really, really, didn't want to stop but it was the right thing to ask.

"No, God no. Don't stop. Just…what do you want, Kurt? What do you want to do?" The question was gasped out between panting breaths.

A nudge of his hips. "Remember when I said I wanted to do this," another nudge, "but with fewer clothes?"

"Yeah, yeah. That's good." Blaine reached between them for Kurt's belt, and he lifted up to give him access. The pants slid down past his hips, and oh what relief it was to free his aching cock from the tight confines of his jeans, and almost to his knees before Blaine couldn't reach from his position.

"Here," Kurt said, rolling off him and standing at the side of the bed, quickly shedding the last of his clothes.

Blaine was already unzipping his own pants, raising up to slip them down, before Kurt laid a hand over his to stop him.

"May I?" Kurt tugged Blaine's feet over to hang off the edge of the bed and slid his slacks down, letting his fingers trail down his legs as they were revealed. There wasn't enough light to see details, as he scanned his gaze back up Blaine's now fully nude body. But enough to see Blaine's cock standing up, thick and hard, and Kurt wanted it in his mouth. But Blaine had seemed uncertain about this one-night stand, which is what he seemed to regard it as. Kurt was starting to wonder if this wasn't something more. But he didn't want to spook him, or make promises he wasn't sure he could keep.

"Lay back?" he requested, and Blaine righted himself on the bed so his head was on the pillow again, letting Kurt crawl over him and lower down…

Oh, my God, the skin. A million points of contact from their mouths joined in another deep kiss, to the hands clasped by Blaine's head on the pillow, their forearms lined up exactly—since when was Kurt turned on by forearms touching? Their stomachs rubbing as they rocked, a slight tickle from Blaine's greater amount of body hair against his own smooth skin. And their erections rubbing together, hot and swollen and…well, a little dry, honestly.

"Blaine?" he asked against his mouth, loathe to break their lips.

"Mmm?" Blaine kissed him again, lifting his legs up to wrap around Kurt's waist and changing the contact in a way that made Kurt buck against him, the harder rub of skin on skin reminding him of his question. He drew back just far enough to pant the question against Blaine's warm skin.

"It's a little…" Kiss at the corner of his mouth. "I mean…." On his nose. "I'm afraid we'll get…" On his chin. "Chafed." The hollow of his throat, where he tasted sweat. "Do you have...?"

He raised his head finally and opened his eyes to the sight of Blaine, with his head thrown back, as if waiting for Kurt's next kiss wherever he wanted to put it. A low whine escaped when no kiss came, his body moving restlessly under his.

"Blaine," Kurt sing-songed softly, teasing a curl from the hold of the gel.

"Hmm?"

"Lube, Blaine."

With a blink, he came back to the present.

"Oh, yeah, sorry, just let me…." He reached for the bedside drawer. He couldn't reach, pinned under Kurt as he was, and wiggled out to turn over on his stomach and grope toward the back of the drawer, finally raising up on his knees to reach back further, giving Kurt a nice if shadowed view of his ass. "Oh, for crying out loud…" Blaine muttered, before finally sitting back with a small bottle. "Ha!" he crowed, squeezing lube out into his palm. He reached out, hesitating over Kurt's body till he laid back, nodding, and closed his eyes at the feel of Blaine applying the cool lube to his cock. His fingers lingered after it was well spread, trailing up and down his length and circling around the head. Kurt couldn't help raising his hips up toward the feeling, needing more contact, more friction, more…the touch disappeared and Kurt opened his eyes to see Blaine applying lube to himself, quick and efficient, and he reached up to pull Blaine down to him.

There. That was the full-body contact he'd wanted to feel again. Only now when they rocked against each other, there was a wonderful slip and slide, a delicious friction that was just right without being too much. Kurt planted his feet against the mattress to gain more leverage, slid hands down Blaine's back to cup his ass firmly and pull him in, so they could get even closer, move faster, match their movements for that perfect, perfect rhythm…

"Oh God, Kurt, I'm gonna-" Blaine buried his face against Kurt's neck and gripped his shoulders, nearly taking Kurt's breath with three final quick thrusts, before his movements froze, his body quivering against his, and somehow that's what did Kurt in…the shaking of Blaine's body against his as he came, made Kurt's own orgasm catch him by surprise. Their bodies were tense against each other for a long moment before, finally, Blaine's weight relaxed against him and Kurt let himself sink down into the mattress, wrapping all his limbs around the warm sweaty body, keeping him close.

They stayed like that for a long moment, their breath slowing to normal. Kurt could hear wind chimes from somewhere outside. Perhaps the wind had picked up, because the breeze through the window seemed stronger, making his sweaty skin prickle with goosebumps as it cooled.

Blaine stirred, kissing Kurt's throat as he raised up to look at him. "That was over faster than I wanted it to be," he whispered, almost bashful.

"We may have gotten a little impatient. I think you left fingernail marks in my shoulders."

"Oh, did I hurt you?" Blaine peered at his shoulders, as if he could see anything in the barely-there lighting.

Kurt huffed a laugh. "No."

"I think you left fingernail marks in my ass," Blaine teased.

"Do either of us have hickeys?" Kurt asked.

Blaine thought about that. "Don't think so. We didn't take the time."

"I don't know about you," Kurt answered, rubbing his thumbs on either side of Blaine's spine, "But I have no intention of being done yet. We have all night."

There was a fleeting impression of a content, relaxed smile before Blaine leaned down for a lingering kiss.

"I'll get something to clean us up," he offered, and slowly lifted, peeling their bodies apart. He slid off the bed and padded away across the room.

Kurt shivered at the loss of his body heat, and got up to retrieve his phone from his jeans pocket before crawling under the covers. He had a reminder about his flight the next morning at 10:00 am. It was almost 9:00 pm now. He sent a quick text to his dad that he'd be back for breakfast in the morning, then set an alarm for himself. Blaine was coming back from the bathroom, so Kurt turned on the Do Not Disturb function and put his phone on the nightstand. They had nine hours before his alarm went off, and Kurt intended to make the most of them.


	13. Chapter 13

The level of light in the room told Blaine that it was time to get up…past time, really. But he stayed where he was, curled around the pillow that Kurt had used the night before, loathe to leave the bed where he was surrounded by Kurt's scent and the memories of everything they'd shared.

There had barely been any light in the room when Kurt woke him, saying that it was time for him to leave so he could say goodbye to his Dad and Carole and be in New Bern in time for his flight.

"I hate to say it, but…. I need a ride. I wish you could stay, and I could just say goodbye to you here," Kurt whispered to him. "I want to remember you just like this. And a long goodbye won't make this any easier."

Blaine had only nodded, and gotten up to drive Kurt back to the now-familiar beach house that the Hummels had rented. They said little on the drive, but they held hands in the center of the seat the whole way.

When Blaine pulled up in the yard, lights already on in the house despite the early hour, he parked and turned to Kurt.

"This doesn't have to be goodbye for good, you know."

"We talked about this last night, Blaine." Kurt turned in his seat to face him fully, holding Blaine's hand between both of his. "Long distance relationships…they just never work out. I think I'd rather remember this one great week we had together, than go through the pain of an attempted relationship falling apart."

"I disagree. I think that what we have, it deserves a chance. Please, don't just walk away without looking back."

Kurt released his hand.

"Please don't make this harder than it has to be," he whispered, staring out the window.

Blaine studied his profile, waiting for some sign that the façade – for a façade it clearly was – would crack. But Kurt didn't so much as blink, Blaine gave it up… for now. Maybe Kurt would change his mind later.

"If you change your mind… you have my number, right?"

"I won't use it, Blaine. I'm sorry."

He reached for the door handle, but Blaine caught him by the collar and kissed him, lingering and trying to make it last as long as possible. Kurt pulled away first, opening the door before their lips even parted. It slammed and he walked swiftly for the cottage. He didn't look back.

Blaine sat there, staring at the house, before he drove home on autopilot and crawled back into bed. He laid awake for a long time to contemplate what the last day of his spring break would be like, without the man that he'd spent most of it with. He finally dozed off and woke again when the sun was well up.

Over coffee, he told himself to get it together. Kurt had been clear that he didn't want to try a long-distance relationship. That was that. He couldn't force the man to want to be in a relationship with him. And Blaine still had a life to live here. Today was Sunday, and tomorrow he'd be back at work. He'd spent so much time with Kurt and his family this week, that he never even started the to-do list that he swore he'd finish during spring break, while he had 'so much free time.'

Sighing, he forced himself to get moving and start a load of laundry. Maybe none of his extras would get done, but he needed clean clothes at the very least. With the washing machine swishing away, he decided his next step should be to pick up Merida. Mary had been kind to offer to keep her overnight, but he didn't want to abuse the favor.

A half hour later, when he pulled up in their yard, the pack swarmed him. He was barely able to get his truck door open, but finally managed it and made sure to pet every dog before commanding them to calm down.

When he walked in the house, he found Stacy and her parents at the table, deep in conversation over the abundance of papers spread out before them.

"I'm sorry, am I interrupting?" he asked, pausing in the doorway.

"Well…we did tell Sam and Stevie to make themselves scarce," Mary said apologetically. "Wouldn't be fair to let you sit in on this little meeting and not them."

"That's fine. Where are they?"

"Back of the shed, throwing darts," Dwight jerked a thumb to indicate general direction, since there were three sheds around the house. "Make sure they know you're coming, or you could lose an eye."

"Right." Blaine gave a supportive thumbs-up to Stacy before going to find the guys. He could hear the _thunk_ of darts being embedded in the wall of the old storage shed before he got there, and called out loudly to announce his arrival.

"It's safe!" Stevie called, so Blaine peeked around the corner with his hand up in a defensive posture in front of his face.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, you dork." Sam was pulling darts out of the target with single-minded purpose. "How's it going in there?"

Blaine shrugged. "I didn't stick around long enough to hear any of the conversation. Just saw a lot of papers on the table."

"Wanna play?" Stevie asked, holding out a handful of darts.

Blaine took them and lined up next to his cousins, as they all took turns throwing at the target. "How are you looking for that internship in Florida next year, Stevie?"

They spent maybe thirty minutes throwing darts, while Stevie talked about the aquaculture program that he planned to attend in the fall. It had been a while since the three of them had hung out like that, and as he listened to his little cousin expand on his plans, Blaine realized that Stevie wasn't so 'little' anymore. True, he was still over a decade younger than Sam and himself, but that ten years made less difference now than it had when Blaine first moved in with the family at age fourteen. Stevie was an adult now, and was making plans for his life. Blaine envied him for the endless possibilities that he still had ahead of him.

Dwight's voice yelling from the porch put an end to the darts and discussion.

Sam leaned around the corner of the shed. "Yeah, Dad?"

"We're all done with Stacy, so we can go down to the shore now. You boys ready?"

Blaine knocked on Stacy's bedroom door. "May I come in?"

Her face cracked into a wide smile. "Yeah, c'mon." She pulled him into the room and shut the door.

"Can I take it by that smile that the conversation when well?"

"Yeah." She beamed proudly. "I mean, I don't think they're going to throw a parade for me when I leave. They're still worried about their little girl going to the big bad city alone. But they were impressed with all the research I did and they said that if I can get the financial aid package to pay for tuition and housing, they won't try to stop me from going."

"That's great, Stace. See, I knew you could do it." He gave her a heartfelt hug.

"Is Kurt going to be around later? I wanted to tell him too, and ask him a couple more questions about New York."

"Uh…no. He flew back this morning."

"Oh." Her face fell. "I didn't realize he was heading back so soon."

"I'm not sure he realized it either," Blaine said, sitting down on her bed. "I think it snuck up on all of us, even though we knew he was only staying a week."

She came to sit next to him, and looped her arm through his, leaning against him. "You miss him already, don't you? You were really into him, Blaine. We could all tell."

"Yeah…and yeah."

"But you have his number, right? You can call and text and video chat…."

"Except that Kurt doesn't want to."

"What? Why not?"

"He doesn't want to try a long-distance relationship. He says they never work and he can't bear to be disappointed."

She made a sympathetic noise and leaned her head on his shoulder, lacing their fingers together. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah. Me too." They sat for a moment, watching the dust moats float in the morning light, before Blaine gave himself a mental shake. Sitting here feeling sorry for himself would accomplish exactly nothing. "Listen, Stace, I gotta go. I have a lot to do today. I just came to get Merida. Good luck with the college planning, and let me know if I can help."

He tried to sound as upbeat as he could, but could feel her eyes on his back as he left and knew he hadn't fooled her a bit. He said a brief good-bye and thank-you to Mary as he passed through the house, then continued outside to call his dog, only to find that she was nowhere to be found. He called for several more times, to no effect.

"She probably followed the boys down to the shore, Blaine." Mary passed behind him, on her way to the ditch with a bowl in her hands. She dumped the contents out and returned to him. "They only went down there to dump some shells. We opened a lot of clams to make chowder for tonight. They'll be back in a minute."

He nodded his thanks and looked down the dirt road to the shore, wondering if he should walk down there to get her. He wanted to get home, where he could lick his wounds in private and not have to pretend that he wasn't watching his phone, hoping Kurt would call despite his claims that he wouldn't.

"Stacy said that Kurt went back to New York this morning." He only nodded. "And that you're pretty upset about it."

He shrugged. "He told me he was only here for a week. Not like I didn't know this was coming."

"Still. We all saw how much you liked him."

He only nodded, not answering further.

After a long moment, during which he kept himself from looking at her through sheer stubbornness alone, he heard her heave a sigh.

"Blaine…" was all she said. But she said it in what he thought of as her 'mom' voice, and God help him, he needed a mom right now. He threw adult pride out the window.

"It's just…I thought I felt something special with him. I thought he felt it too, so how could he just walk away, like it was no big deal? Was I just a vacation fling to him?" Even as he said the words, he knew it wasn't true. They'd talked about their contrasting approaches to relationships earlier in the week, and Kurt knew that he didn't take sleeping with him lightly. Last night, he'd given Blaine a chance to back out, but he'd wanted Kurt, more than he'd wanted any man in years. Last night, he didn't care if it was a one-night stand. But he'd thought, he'd hoped…what? "I hoped he would choose me," he said, only realizing as he said it out loud, how true it was. "Just once, I wanted to be chosen. And wanted."

"Honey…" Mary dropped the bowl she held to the ground, heedless that it landed in the dirt, and reached up to hug him. "You _are_ wanted. You know that."

He buried his face in her shoulder and sniffled, trying to keep himself from full-out sobbing. He didn't bother to correct her. She and her family had chosen him. They had never made him feel like he'd been foisted on them, or that he'd overstayed his welcome. But his father had chosen a child-free military career over him. And his romantic relationships…he'd been passed over in favor of careers, or the security of the gay closet. The Evans family were the only ones, since his mother passed away, who made him feel truly chosen and wanted for himself.

He stayed in Mary's comforting embrace a moment longer, drawing solace from her homey smell and her hand stroking his hair, before he heard Dwight, Sam, and Stevie returning on the four-wheelers. He pulled away from Mary, wiping his eyes quickly and giving her a weak smile in thanks, before dogs surrounded them. He bent to pet them, surreptitiously wiping his face on his sleeve again.

"You staying for clam chowder tonight, son?" Dwight called as he turned the engine off.

"Maybe I'll come back later," Blaine called, pasting a smile on his face. "I need to go home for a while and get some things done, get ready for school to start again tomorrow."

"We'll see you later, then. C'mon, boys, them shrimp ain't gonna head themselves."

They walked away to the processing shed and Mary rubbed his back, similar to how she used to do when he got sick, and the knot in Blaine's stomach eased a little more. "I hope you'll come back for dinner, Blaine. You know you're always welcome here."

"I know." His smile felt a little more genuine this time. "I'll see how much I get done this afternoon, and if I have the time to drive back out here again. Thanks, Mary."

He called Merida and opened the passenger door of his pickup, allowing her to scramble her bulk in, before waving to his aunt and pulling out of the driveway to head for home.

Merida sat up straight in the seat, her head nearly brushing the roof of the truck, her tongue lolling out as she panted.

"Looks like it's just you and me again, girl." He reached over to give her a pat, and her tail thumped on the seat.

Monday morning back at elementary school after spring break, and the chaos level was multiplied by a factor of at least ten over a typical school morning. Blaine welcomed the constant din of students catching up with friends they hadn't seen over vacation, and teachers reminding kids that rules hadn't suddenly changed during the week they were gone, so they couldn't run in the halls. The frenetic noise and activity helped to provide a distraction for him, and the mental demands of teaching forced him to focus, so that he could go an hour or so without thinking about Kurt.

He still loved teaching, even though it wasn't as new and exciting as it had been nine years ago. He loved seeing the proud look on his students' faces when they mastered a new piece of music, whether it was his kindergarten students in their first week learning to clap a rhythm to B-I-N-G-O, or his eighth graders mastering a four-part harmony for their upcoming choral concert. He'd lost track of how many students he'd taught over his nearly nine years here, but he felt confident that he'd left a positive impression on each and every one of them. He'd resolved long ago that he would never give teaching less than his best, because every student deserved his best.

So on Monday, he set his broken heart aside and threw himself back into his classes. He greeted each student with a smile as they came in, asked everyone how their week off had gone, and pulled out every trick he'd learned to convince the kids to re-focus on the music, while also making it seem fun. He stayed late to finalize his lesson plans for the rest of the week.

By the time he finally left school, stopped by the grocery store, went home to feed Merida and himself, and prepared for the next day, he was ready to collapse. He showered and fell into his bed, grateful that he was too tired to stay awake thinking about the man whose smell still permeated his bed. He'd done three loads of laundry on Sunday, but couldn't bring himself to wash the sheets.

On Tuesday, he left school right after the kids. He couldn't stay late as he had the day before, because it was his assigned day to take dinner to Mr. Dodd. Which meant he needed to go home and cook. Although his cooking skills were nothing to brag about, it was the understood rule that when taking dinner to someone sick or had just had a death in the family, buying from the store was not allowed. It was expected that the meal be prepared at home, with the bringer's own two hands. Blaine did have a couple meals that he knew how to make well, so he went straight home and busied himself in the kitchen.

At 5:45, he approached Mr. Dodd's house in Beaufort and saw him in a rocking chair on the front porch, a blanket draped over his lap despite the March warmth, projecting Southern gentility with every lazy push of the rocker. Blaine wasn't sure if he was even awake, but his eyes fluttered open at the creak of the porch steps, and he offered a tired smile.

"Three-Deez!" Blaine offered him a mock salute.

"Blaine. Wonderful to see you."

"And you, sir." Blaine shifted the insulated bag he carried, full of disposable Tupperware containers that held his offering, to his left hand so he could shake hands with his former teacher. The responding grip was weak, the fingers barely curling around his.

"You can take that through to the kitchen. My neighbor is in there, she's taken it upon herself to check on me every afternoon. Then you come back and talk to me, hmm?"

Blaine only nodded, struck by his watery eyes, cracking voice, and the ashy tone of his dark skin. He'd always been such a presence in any room he inhabited, able to make his voice carry over a crowd of raucous students or hold the attention of harried parents who really didn't want to listen to another plea for arts funding. Now, he seemed shrunk in on himself, and his voice probably didn't carry past this porch.

He went through the screen door into the house, careful not to let it bang loudly behind him, and into the kitchen where a middle-aged woman took the bag with a smile.

"Thanks so much, honey. I'll make him up a plate and put the rest in the refrigerator."

He smiled in return, and braced himself before going back out on the porch. He took the rocker next to Mr. Dodd, waiting till the older man opened his eyes again and acknowledged him.

"It's a shock, isn't it?"

"What is, sir?"

"My appearance." He waved a hand toward his own face. Blaine started to protest, but he cut him off with a gesture. "You don't need to spare my feelings, I know what I look like. I shock myself when I look in the mirror."

"May I ask…. what kind of cancer do you have?"

"Pancreatic. Fast-moving and with a low survival rate. It's only a matter of time."

"I'm sorry," Blaine said, not knowing how else to react.

Mr. Dodd only hummed, shrugging with a slight movement. "I've made my peace with it. I've had a good life here, influenced a lot of people, hopefully for the better-"

"Definitely for the better," Blaine interjected.

"And now, I'm going to take advantage of what time I have left, to say goodbye. I'm glad you came today, Blaine. You're the first one of my students to come visit, and I need you to pass a message along for me, to whichever well-meaning busybody from the PTA tries to take over the planning of my funeral."

"Umm…okay?" Blaine wondered if he should find something to write with, so he could take notes.

"I've already told the funeral director this, but I want there to be no doubt. Absolutely no Shakespeare is to be read at my funeral service."

Blaine waited to see if there was more, but having made his pronouncement, Mr. Dodd simply closed his eyes again and continued rocking.

"But, sir…you love Shakespeare."

"Yes. And I've subjected forty-four years' worth of students in this county to the Bard's verse, over their vehement objections." He opened his eyes, stopped rocking, and leaned forward just a little, his wrinkled hands gripping the armrests for balance. "Assuming any of those former students show up to my services, do you know what they'll be thinking if Shakespeare is quoted over my corpse?" Blaine shook his head, clueless about where he was going with this. The old man smiled. "They'll be thinking, 'you just had to make us listen to it one last time, didn't you?'" Blaine laughed, unable to help himself. Mr. Dodd nodded and sat back, resuming his rocking. "I don't want _that_ to be their last thought of me. So, no Shakespeare. You'll pass the word, won't you?"

"Of course," Blaine promised, smiling through sudden tears.

"So enough about my impending demise. How are you, Blaine? Have you done any shows with the community theatre lately? I hear they're holding auditions for _Rent_. I always thought you would make an excellent Angel."

"Umm, thank you," Blaine said. "But I haven't performed on stage – other than singing with my cousin –for a few years. And I think I might be a little too old for that role now anyway."

"Old, pfft. Talk to me when you're in your sixties. So you're not performing, what are you doing with yourself? What did you do on your week off?"

"I may have…met someone on the beach, last Tuesday." God, had it been only a week ago today that he'd laid eyes on Kurt for the first time? "He was here vacationing with his family, and I ended up spending most of the week with him."

"Must have been a special someone, if the glint in your eye is any indication."

"I thought he was, or could have been," Blaine sighed. "But he flew back to New York on Sunday morning, and I'll likely never see him again."

"Blaine," was all he said, but Blaine caught himself sitting up straighter, muscle memory responding to years of obeying stage directions in that voice. "Do you want to see this young man again?"

"Yes."

"Then find a way."

"He… doesn't want a long-distance relationship," he admitted.

"What do you want? Ask yourself that first, and when you have your answer, you find a way to make it happen." Blaine said nothing, only looked down at his hands. Mr. Dodd didn't know the whole story. He looked up when the old man spoke again. "Honey…life's too short to let fear rule it. Take the advice of an old closeted gay. You have opportunities that the men in my generation never had, and I'd hate to see you waste them."

"Umm…" was all he could muster in response, because as far as he knew, Mr. Dodd had never openly admitted to being gay. It was accepted as an assumed truth in the community, a sort of open secret that everyone knew, but – as the man himself had never confirmed it, and he was well liked and people respected his privacy – no one ever talked about publicly.

The smallest of smiles lifted the corners of his mouth. "I don't suppose it matters now. Might as well admit the truth before I'm gone."

He leaned back in his rocker, his eyes closing again.

"What if…" Blaine had to force himself to say it. "What if he doesn't want me?"

"Then at least you'll know. Better than looking back years from now and regretting that you never tried letting him know how you feel. What's that line from _Rent_?"

"No day but today?" Blaine guessed.

"No. Something about regret. You'd do well to live by that. You know my motto, Blaine…everything you need to know about life…"

"You can learn on a stage," Blaine finished for him. He sat for another moment, contemplating his former teacher's advice. When he looked up to thank him, he realized that Mr. Dodd had fallen asleep.

With careful movements, Blaine pulled his blanket up further on his lap, and rested his hand on his mentor's for a moment. He checked with the neighbor inside to be sure she'd be around a while longer to keep an eye on him, then left, his mind racing.

 _Forget regret, or life is yours to miss._

He argued with himself the entire ride home, but thirty minutes later, he was on his couch, Merida stretched out at his feet, researching flights to New York. He would have to wait till the weekend, as much as he didn't want to. The entire school system had just taken a week off for spring break; he couldn't ask for additional days off when they'd barely returned from vacation. He pulled up a calendar and groaned internally when he realized that the coming weekend wasn't possible either. He'd scheduled extra rehearsals for all the choirs on Saturday afternoon…. not a popular move with the parents, but he felt they needed it to make up the time they'd lost from being off for a week, so close to their performance date. And the performances were the weekend after that.

Blaine let his head sink back on the couch, and briefly considered canceling the extra rehearsals. But no…he'd worked hard to instill a good work ethic in his students, and the attitude that once you made a commitment, you kept it. So three weekends from now was the best he could do.

The good thing about not booking a flight last-minute was that he had more choices for flight times and it would cost less. He spent some time researching all the options, eventually deciding to pay the extra cost of flying out of New Bern, which was closer and more convenient, rather than driving three hours to the much larger airport in Raleigh.

When all his personal information and credit card details had been entered, his hand hovered over the Enter button on the keyboard. If he pressed that button, the transaction would go through and this would all be real. He would be booked on a flight to New York three weekends from now, to throw his heart at Kurt Hummel and hope that he would catch it.

He jabbed at the button before he let himself think too hard, and it was done. He opened his email account to wait for the confirmation email, and jumped when the distinctive bubble notification for a Skype call sounded from the laptop's speakers. His father was calling, an event unusual enough to immediately make Blaine wonder if something was wrong. It was usually Blaine who called him, on Sunday mornings like clockwork. They had a scheduled time for their weekly phone conversations…. and he realized that he'd missed it this week. He'd been so preoccupied with Kurt's departure that he hadn't even thought about calling his father. He acknowledged the call and his father's worn face, topped by the regulation haircut, filled the screen.

"Blaine," was all he said by way of greeting.

"Hi, Dad. Sorry I missed our call this weekend." He settled deeper into the couch cushions, crossing his legs and settling the computer in his lap.

"It's not like you to forget, Blaine. Is everything all right there?"

"Yeah, it's all fine. It's just…it was spring break last week; my schedule was all wonky and I lost track of the days."

In the corner of the screen, a notification bubble told him that the confirmation email for his flight had arrived. He clicked over to see it, replacing his father's face with his inbox.

"Blaine?"

"Sorry, sir." He clicked back to see his father's raised eyebrow.

"Was spring break the only reason you were distracted and off schedule?"

"Who have you been talking to, Dad?"

"I may have received an email from Mary," he admitted.

Blaine nodded, having already guessed as much. Although Dwight and Mary had been his de facto parents since he was fourteen, they'd never lost sight of the fact that Colonel Anderson was his true parent. He knew there had been frequent discussions between his father and his aunt and uncle early on, as they checked with him regarding Blaine's upbringing. But he'd graduated to adulthood a dozen years ago, and to his knowledge there had only been a handful of times in the last decade that the Colonel had been contacted. He felt mildly betrayed that Mary had gone to his father behind his back.

"I may have been worked up over something the last time I was at her house," Blaine conceded. "But it's not a big deal. I'm working through it." _By booking a flight to NYC._

"Do you want to tell me what you were 'worked up' about?"

"Mary didn't tell you?"

"No, son. All she said was that she thought you could use a call from your dad."

"Oh." That was better, then. Mary hadn't betrayed a confidence, only nudged his father to call him.

"So? What's the latest intel from the Land of Blaine? I'm not on duty again for twelve hours. I have time."

He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, trying to look like a man with all the time in the world. He wasn't very convincing…not because it wasn't true, because Blaine was sure his father had given the correct time till he was back on duty. But Colonel John Anderson was not a man who tolerated idleness with good grace. And when he asked a question, he expected an immediate answer. He wasn't one to chit chat for hours while waiting for someone to get comfortable and open up. But neither did he accept 'I don't want to talk' as an acceptable response.

Blaine tried not to visibly sigh as he accepted that he was cornered.

"I met a guy at the beginning of spring break. He was here visiting for a few days, we spent time together and I really liked him, and then he flew back to New York. That's all."

"And you're upset that this guy left?"

"Yeah, Dad. I miss him. We…had fun together while he was here."

"I see," was all he said, but the tone of his voice told Blaine that he knew exactly what kind of _fun_ he'd had with Kurt. "Do you have plans for the summer?" his dad asked, in a painfully obvious attempt to change the subject.

A surge of anger – as unfamiliar as it was unexpected – welled up in Blaine. In all these years, his dad had never _truly_ had to come to terms with his son being gay. He'd mostly ignored the issue till Blaine had chosen to live with the Evans, and since then, they'd always been half a world apart. The few times that Blaine had mentioned dating someone, his dad would simply change the subject. Blaine had accepted his father's attitude for years, reasoning that it wasn't worthwhile to create hard feelings when he only ever talked to him on video chat anyway. He didn't have much of a relationship with his dad; he didn't want to jeopardize what little connection they did have.

But damn it all, Blaine was thirty years old and he was tired of waiting for his dad to join the modern world. Tired of waiting for him to show that he cared about his youngest son.

"Actually, yeah. I just booked a flight to New York. I'm going in three weekends, after my students have their spring concerts. I'm going to visit Kurt. And if everything continues to go well between us, I have a feeling I'll be spending my entire summer in New York."

"Well, then." His dad looked nonplussed, which was such an unfamiliar look on him that Blaine would have laughed if he weren't still angry. "You've…umm." My God, was he actually searching for words? "You've never reacted this way about any other man you've dated. I suppose this one must be special."

"I think he is, yeah." Blaine relaxed a fraction. This was already the longest conversation they'd ever had about Blaine's love life.

His dad nodded, then asked, "So what's this man's name?"

"Planning to run a background check, Dad?"

"Do I need to?" Colonel Anderson didn't smile when he asked. It wasn't in his nature to joke around.

"No, Dad. His name is Kurt." Just saying his name made Blaine smile. "Kurt Hummel. He's been a working actor on Broadway for ten years, you can see clips of him on YouTube. If you…want to look."

"Maybe I will."

"His current show is If/Then," Blaine added. "That's If, backslash, Then."

"Understood. Well, if there's no other news to share, Blaine, I probably should get some rack time before I'm back on duty."

"Right." He would have loved to tell his dad more about Kurt, and the time they'd spent together this week, but he'd take the progress they'd made so far with this conversation. "Goodnight, Dad. Till next time."

"Till next time, Son."

It wasn't till he'd ended the call that it really hit him…he'd told his father he was going to New York. He'd said it to his face, defying him to object, and in finding the confidence to do that, Blaine had confirmed the plan in his mind. That made it more real than the charge to his credit card. He was going.

The rest of Blaine's week dragged. It wasn't so bad at work, where the crowds of rowdy children demanded his undivided attention. At home though, or in any idle moments that gave him too much time with his thoughts, he wondered how he would be able to wait like this for two more weeks.

There wasn't really anyone he could talk to about the situation. He'd decided not to tell the Evans about his trip, not yet. He'd need to ask them if they could watch Merida for a couple days, but he was waiting on that. He didn't want Stacy to know about the trip at all; she would only get excited on his behalf and he didn't know if he could promise a happy ending to this particular story. Sam had been his confidant since boyhood, but Sam didn't approve of Kurt. Or New York. Or Blaine being anywhere near Kurt or New York. All in all, he thought it better to save himself the headache of his family's expectations.

There was someone else who didn't know that he'd booked a flight to New York…Kurt. He'd thought of calling or texting him, but what would he say? 'Oh, by the way, I booked a flight to New York to see you, even though you said you didn't want a long-distance relationship and you've cut off all contact since you left?' No…it was better to make his case in person.

He had it all planned out. He didn't know where Kurt lived, but he definitely knew where he worked. The Richard Rodgers theatre on 46th Street, the same theatre where _If/Then_ had had its original run over a decade ago. Blaine's flight on Friday evening wouldn't get him there early enough to see the show, but he _would_ get there before the final curtain call. He could wait at the stage door for Kurt to come out with the rest of the cast, and then… well, that would depend on whether Kurt thought him showing up like that was romantic or creepy.

Somehow, Blaine made it through the rest of his work week, and the weekend. He spent his free time researching places to stay in Manhattan, and booking a room for two nights, trying not to think about what it would mean if he ended up staying in a hotel. He took Merida for long runs and pushed himself hard, so that when he collapsed into bed at night, he was too tired to stay awake obsessing over circumstances that he couldn't do anything about. Not for two more weeks.

It was because of his determination to exhaust himself during the day that he went to bed early on Sunday evening, and fell immediately into a deep sleep. He was brought out of it, forcibly, by Merida barking loudly. Blaine shot up in bed, looking around and trying to figure out why she was barking. The clock said it was just after midnight.

Merida whined and trotted out of the bedroom, headed for the front door. She didn't seem to be on alert for danger, but something had definitely caught her attention.

Blaine pulled on a pair of sweatpants and followed his dog, who was now snuffling at the bottom of the front door. He flipped on the porch light and peeked through the window, then pushed Merida out of the way to fling the door open.


	14. Chapter 14

Walking away from Blaine's truck, leaving him sitting there and knowing that his sad golden-brown eyes were following him as he climbed the stairs to the beach house, was one of the hardest things Kurt had ever done. He had to force himself to break the kiss, and he could have sworn he heard his heart break when their lips lost contact.

He greeted his Dad and Carole on automatic, pasting a smile on his face but knowing that he wasn't fooling them. Years of experience had enabled him to convincingly portray a range of emotions on stage for the consumption of a 'gimme my money's worth' audience. But no amount of experience or acting skill would fool his parents.

They didn't question him, though. Not through the process of zipping up his bags, grabbing a breakfast bar to eat later, or saying goodbye to Carole. She was opting to stay behind, and Kurt sighed inwardly as he realized it was probably so his Dad could give him a 'talk' on the way to the airport. He valued his father's wisdom, but right now he was just too tired, too emotionally wrung-out, to face one of his talks.

He gave Carole a heart-felt hug and a kiss on the cheek, whispering "Bye, Mom" in her ear before nodding to his dad and walking down the stairs one last time. He opened the truck's door but paused before getting in, taking one last lungful of the ocean air, hearing the waves crash on the beach. He didn't know if he would ever come back here. And he wanted to remember this place.

Even if it hurt.

"Kurt? Are we going?"

"Yeah." He got in and mechanically clicked his seat belt on. Act normal and eventually it'll feel normal.

Burt Hummel started the truck and pulled out of the driveway. He gave his son a look but didn't say anything, which Kurt was grateful for. When he was off the beach and came to the traffic lights on Highway 70, he spoke without taking his eyes off the road.

"Which way?"

If they turned right, they could be at Blaine's cottage in ten minutes. It was just a few more blocks down Arendell Street, then a right turn and winding through a residential neighborhood, till they came to the high gate. Kurt knew Blaine's code for opening the gate; he'd seen him punch it in last night. He could ask his dad to drop him off at the door of the little cottage on the water, and knock on it and join Blaine for morning coffee. Or maybe Blaine had gone back to bed. That would be even better. He could curl up with him under that skylight, and watch the light of the rising sun change the hue of Blaine's beautiful skin. He could say to hell with his career in New York, to hell with carefully laid plans, and take a chance on that sappy rom-com ending that he'd dreamed of since he was a teenager in Ohio, wondering if he'd ever have anything even close to the movies.

Except that this wasn't a movie. The light turned green, but Burt made no move to start driving again, waiting patiently for Kurt's answer. The vehicle behind them tapped its horn, and Kurt closed his eyes.

"To the airport, Dad."

He felt the truck start to move, but kept his eyes closed till they were well down the road. Saying goodbye to his dad at the tiny New Bern airport felt stiff and mechanical. Burt Hummel had to have felt how distant his son was, but said nothing beyond 'love you' and wishing him a safe journey.

The trip back to New York passed by in a haze, with Kurt too tired and too emotional to do more than fumble his way through the logistics of travel. When he took his jacket off to put it in the security bin at New Bern airport, he had a flashback to Blaine taking his jacket off the night before. He blamed the low-grade headache on not getting much sleep… he'd been far busy appreciating the beautiful man in bed with him. He bought a Diet Coke from the vending machine, hoping the caffeine would help clear his head, and sat in the tiny waiting area waiting for his plane to be called. The lyrics to "Tell Me on a Sunday" drifted absurdly through his head, playing on a loop.

Damn it all, he'd _tried_ to let Blaine down easy! It's not as if either of them thought their serendipitous meeting on the beach was going to lead to a forever sort of relationship. He spent one week in a small Southern town that he'd probably never see again, but New York was his home, and that wasn't going to change just because there was a cute guy in said Southern town.

His plane was called, and Kurt tried to push the memory of sad eyes to the back of his mind. He got up and walked through the door and across the parking lot to the puddle-hopper that would take him to Charlotte where he'd have a layover. When the wheels left the ground and the plane was airborne, he told himself, 'That's that. Leaving North Carolina behind and going home.'

While at Charlotte, he checked his professional email for the first time all week and found three messages from the heads of costume departments who were willing to talk to him about a job. His spirits lifted a little at that, because despite the numerous conversations he'd had with costumers over the years, and their easy comments that they'd be happy to offer him a job, he wasn't sure if that was just talk. But emailing back and asking for an appointment…. that was real. He responded and after his next flight, checked his phone again as soon as they touched down at LaGuardia. He had one new email. Did he want to meet tomorrow at 9:00 AM? He confirmed and felt the emotional tension of saying goodbye to Blaine this morning, start to dissipate. He was back in New York, he had an interview for a new job tomorrow, and by Tuesday evening he'd be back in the theatre to perform. That always helped him forget his problems…. for a couple hours, at least.

He took a cab from the airport, and could almost feel his heartrate pick up speed, to match this crazy, wonderful city that he called home. Back in his apartment, he called his dad to say he'd arrived safely, then unpacked efficiently and spent an enjoyable hour with the full contents of his closet – not just the one suitcase that he'd been living out of for the past week – deciding what to wear to his interview tomorrow. Lillian Sorranzen, the costume designer he'd be meeting with, had asked him to come to her work room. He wasn't sure what to expect from this interview. Would it be a sit-down-and-talk? Or would she want to see him at work? Deciding that the latter was a possibility, he chose an ensemble that looked good, yet would allow him free range of movement.

He made himself keep moving till it was time for bed, because if he was planning for tomorrow then he wasn't stopping to think about what he'd left behind that morning, was he? He let a call from Rachel go to voicemail, and responded to her only after her fifth text. _Sorry, Rachel. Really tired. Catch up Tues at theatre?_ He knew she wanted to give him the third degree about his new relationship, but there was nothing to tell. It was over, and he couldn't face her relentless questions right now.

At 8:55 AM on Monday morning, Kurt presented himself at Sorranzen Wardrobe shop and was greeted by Lillian herself, a tall thin woman with her silver hair perpetually falling down from her loose bun. She gave him kisses on both cheeks and with a grand "Follow me, darling," swept him into the busy hustle of the wardrobe department. She handed him a tape measure and clipboard, pointing to a young woman and saying before she rushed off, "Measure Jade here for her costume, would you?"

After he'd introduced himself to Jade and written her measurements on the provided chart, Lillian appeared again and skimmed what he'd written before saying, "Jade here has a quick change at the end of Act One. She has to change from this costume-" Lillian pulled it off the adjoining rack— "to this one—" she pulled another— "in forty-five seconds. Preferably less. How would you do it?"

Kurt studied the two costumes for a moment, paying particular attention to the fastenings on each of them and relieved when he saw a lot of Velcro, before turning to Jade. "A few questions about your character and your movements on the stage. First, what kind of shoes are you wearing with each of these costumes?"

From the corner of his eye, he saw Lillian nod in approval. And so it continued for the next three hours. After proving that he could assist Jade in her quick change – in _forty-two_ seconds, thank you—Lillian gave him a stack of costumes with tags on them indicating minor repairs that were needed, and pointed him to a sewing machine. She quizzed him on his knowledge of how to launder various fabrics. While showing him the warehouse where old costumes were kept, and explaining the organization system there, she managed to sneak in a few questions that tested his knowledge of fashion history. This wasn't an interview, it was a trial by fire.

When the employees started to trickle out in twos and threes for their lunch break, she called Kurt into her office. He accepted her offer of a bottle of water and sank gratefully into the chair in front of her messy desk. He dabbed at his forehead with his handkerchief, trying to be subtle about wiping the sweat off his face.

"My apologies for that rather rude introduction to my costume shop, Kurt. But as you and I have talked at length over the years while working together on various shows, I didn't think much could be accomplished today by more talk. I felt the best way to access your compatibility with my team was to throw you into the deep end and see what you could do."

"And?" he smiled as he asked, because he was pretty sure he'd performed well.

"And well done." She sat back in her chair, stretching her arms over her head. "The truth is, my shop is fully staffed, and I wasn't looking to hire anyone else right now. But-" She held up a finger at his dismayed reaction. "I'm not about to pass up on a good worker who has a good base knowledge of theatre and costuming, who has just proved he can think on his feet, and perform well at any of the tasks we do here. I don't have a specific job I'm trying to fill, but if you're willing to start as a swing and just work where you're needed till I can find a spot for you, then… welcome aboard, Mr. Hummel."

"Really?" he asked, disbelieving. It couldn't possibly be that easy.

"Really. When can you start?"

Kurt called his dad as soon as he left the interview, and shared his good news. He had an impulse to call Blaine, and almost gave in, but in the end, he resisted. It was over; his life was here in New York. He'd keep reciting that mantra till he believed it.

He put Rachel off again when she called that afternoon, saying he had a lot to catch up on after being out of town for a week and would talk to her tomorrow at the theatre, but he knew he couldn't avoid talking to her forever.

That Monday afternoon, he tried to stay busy. He cleaned and reorganized his apartment, even moving his furniture around. He went shopping for groceries, replenishing his kitchen which was rather bare after his absence. He went to a dance class, and could feel the strain in his muscles by the time he finished. He was going to be slightly sore tomorrow, he knew it already, and he welcomed it.

He was mopping the sweat off his face in the hallway after class, when he was approached by Jarod, who he knew from doing a couple shows together in the past. They'd hooked up before and always had a good time, but today Kurt's dance-induced adrenaline high fizzled away as he recognized the look Jarod gave him as he approached.

As predicted, Jarod asked if he wanted to hang out, and a part of Kurt wanted to say yes. It might be helpful, the devil on one shoulder whispered into his ear. He could use a good distraction, and Jarod could be that if Kurt let him. The sad truth of it was, he just wasn't in the mood for a meaningless roll in the sack, and that's what he told Jarod, as tactfully as he could. The other man took it in stride, and Kurt saw him walk out with someone else a few minutes later.

He went home, and sighed when he saw Rachel waiting for him in the lobby of his apartment building. He should have known she wouldn't let herself be pushed aside. There was nothing Rachel Berry hated more than being ignored.

"Rachel." He managed to find a smile for her, and even hugged her back when she attacked him with an embrace. This was his best friend, after all, and he did love her despite all her annoying faults. "What took you so long?"

"Well, I was going to be here waiting for you last night, but Jesse said that was too pushy."

"Jesse's been a better influence on you than I would have guessed, back in high school. He's your counterbalance."

"So everyone says. But enough about me, I came here so we can talk about you. I want to hear all about your trip."

She tugged him toward the elevators while she was talking, and pushed the call button.

"Well, my parents got a beach house right on the ocean this time, they were really proud of that accomplishment because apparently you have to book a year in advance to get waterfront rental property."

"That's not what I'm talking about, and you know it!" The elevator doors opened, and they got in. Rachel pushed the button for his floor before pointing at him. "I want to know about this Blaine guy you met. Spill."

"Fine," Kurt sighed, giving in to the inevitable. "But can I get a shower first? I just finished a jazz class and I reek."

"Yeah, you do," she agreed. "So you get a shower while I fix us tea."

They entered his apartment together and Kurt made a beeline for the bathroom, not bothering to stop and tell her where to find what she needed. She knew where everything was; she was as much at home in his tiny apartment as she was in her own home.

Fifteen minutes later, dressed in comfortable sweats and with his hair still damp, he settled on the couch with her and accepted a cup of steaming tea.

"Kurt," Rachel said softly, putting a hand on his knee where he sat cross-legged on the sofa. "Are you okay?"

He blew on his tea to give himself a moment.

"Why do you ask?"

"You're usually happy enough to tell me about the guys you date, whether it's a one-night stand or a relationship that lasts a few months. But you've been putting me off about Blaine. What's different about him?"

He hesitated; he didn't want to say it out loud, because that made it real. But if he couldn't talk to his best friend about it, then who? He took a breath, bracing himself.

"I think… I might be in love with him."

"Kurt! That's wonderful! I'm so hap-"

"No! Not wonderful! Rachel, his entire life is in North Carolina, in this little tourist town whose biggest claim to fame is a haunted house where they can't wash Blackbeard's blood off the steps. His family is there, and his job, his dog-"

"Whoa, hold on, he has a dog?"

"Not any ordinary dog. This monster is huge, she's almost as tall as I am. And everyone in his family has a dog too! The night I went to meet his aunt and uncle, I had to count dogs and humans to make sure we weren't outnumbered!"

Inexplicably, Rachel started laughing.

" _What?"_ he snapped.

"You are so gone on this guy, Kurt. You may as well give in to the inevitable, because you don't like dogs, or small towns, and if you can say out loud that you even _might_ be falling for a dog-owning small-town boy… you're already past the point of no return."

He stared at her for a moment as her words sunk in, and it was like the tumblers on the combination lock clicked into place.

"Rachel, what am I going to do?"

"It'll work out, I promise. If it's meant to be, it'll work out. Now…" Rachel sat back, crossed her legs under her and blew on her tea, looking at him through her lashes. "Tell me more about this Blaine guy. I want to know what has my best friend so besotted."

Kurt closed his eyes, picturing Blaine in his mind. How did one begin to describe the person who'd run away with their heart?

"He… looks like a Prince Charming from a Disney movie. Sings like one, too, and plays both guitar and piano," he began, visualizing Blaine's fingers on the guitar strings that night at the restaurant. "He has the dreamiest eyes, a hazel that leans more toward gold than green. And his curls… oh my God, Rachel, wait till you see his hair…"

After his talk with Rachel on Monday afternoon, Kurt felt both better and worse, if that was even possible. In spite of her assurances that his relationship with Blaine would work out if it was meant to be, none of her reassurances changed the facts of the situation. He was still living several states away from the man that he now admitted – if only to himself – that he very much wanted to have a relationship with, and he struggled daily with the impulse to call him.

He didn't, because he didn't know what he would say to him. _Hi, I know I said I didn't want a relationship, but now I'm having doubts. But I still haven't decided… so whaddaya say, wanna have a relationship with me, and risk me realizing a month down the road that the distance is just too much?_ That didn't seem fair to Blaine, so Kurt continued to debate with himself.

He returned to the theatre on Tuesday evening, grateful for the distraction of work, for the well-oiled chaos machine of backstage and the siren call of applause. He answered questions about his vacation by saying how nice it was to see his parents, and how relaxing it was at the beach. The only one who knew what really happened last week, and the turmoil he felt because of it, was Rachel. She asked him a couple times if he needed to talk again, but didn't press him when he said he wasn't ready. He'd never been so grateful for the restraint that Rachel had gradually found as she matured into adulthood.

He'd nearly made it through the entire week's performances, and couldn't decide if his upcoming days off would be better or worse than having to be at work every day. On Sunday, he arrived at the theatre to begin warmups for the matinee. He was signing in at the stage door when his phone buzzed in his pocket.

It was a text from Stacy, and he realized as soon as he saw her name on the screen, how odd it was that he hadn't heard from her before now. When he gave her his number, he fully expected to be inundated with questions about every aspect of acting school, auditions, and living in New York. But this was the first time she'd contacted him since he left Carteret County.

 _hi kurt hope ur ok_

 _mom said I shouldn't send this but I had to_

 _sorry if I'm overstepping but_

 _want you to know how much blaine misses you_

 _he's been sad all week_

 _thought you should know_

 _ok I'll shut up now_

 _bye_

"Bad news, Kurt?" the security guard at the desk asked.

"Why would you ask that?"

"The look on your face doesn't say good news."

"No, it's fine."

He mustered up a smile and texted back a simple _thx_ to Stacy before going to the backstage door, waiting to be buzzed in and trying to maintain his outward composure.

Blaine _missed_ him. Blaine had been _sad_ all week. Somehow, that simple confirmation of the feelings he already knew Blaine had for him, just twisted the knife of indecision in his gut.

He forced himself to shove his feelings down, to focus on the upcoming performance. Just go through the steps, he told himself. He could break down later, in private. Right now, he had a job to do. He went through the pre-show ritual on rote. Makeup, costuming, vocal warmups.

The show started and Kurt tried to lose himself in the performance, like he did every night. He knew he was only succeeding halfway, which was confirmed by Rachel when she pulled him aside backstage, halfway through Act One.

"What's up with you tonight? You're dialing it in, and you _never_ dial it in, Kurt."

Not knowing how else to answer her, he pulled out his phone – already on silent and illumination on its dimmest setting – and showed her the texts from Stacy. She read them quickly, her expression unreadable in the faint glow from the screen, and handed it back to him.

"We'll talk after the show," she promised, before walking back out on stage, in character and perfectly on cue.

Somehow, he managed to hold it together for the rest of the act, but he knew Rachel was right. He was giving a mechanical performance, and he didn't think he'd ever done that before.

His control held till his main song, which came late in Act Two, which his character sang to Rachel's character. He looked at her as he sang the opening lines, the one person in this theatre who knew what he was going through tonight, and couldn't help seeing his best friend in place of the character she was playing. The sympathy she sent toward him was from Rachel; he could feel it.

 _If you met him tomorrow and knew you would lose him,  
If you saw him and saw all the hurt you would know,  
Would you hold him, while you had him?  
Or let him go?_

 _If you knew that your laughter would not last forever,  
But you knew while it did, you would breathe it like air  
Would you let him make you love him?  
Would you dare?_

 _Feeling like you feel today,  
Tell me you'd just walk away_

 _What would you do if you could do it all over?_

 _What would you do if you could start it all new?_

 _If you could go back, knowing what you know now,_

 _What would you do?_

Real tears were running down his cheeks by the time he finished the song. He finished the show on auto-pilot, and later would have to call Rachel to ask her if he'd missed any lines or gone wandering off the stage in the middle of the performance. When the lights went down after the finale, he was carried off stage by the press of the cast moving into the wings so they could re-enter for their curtain calls.

"Kurt? Are you all right?"

He tried to see her face in the dim of backstage, but she was just a vague shape.

"I've made a mistake," he told her, hearing his voice separate from the theatre noises all around them. "Rachel, I… had my dream guy, and I walked away. What was I thinking?"

"Kurt, look at me. You can fix this. I promise."

"How?" he croaked.

"First, you take your curtain call." With no other warning, she shoved him unceremoniously out onto the stage, and only muscle memory reminded him to smile, to walk to his mark for his bow, then take his place in the line with his cast mates. He applauded as the rest of the cast came out, with Rachel last as the lead. He let himself be carried off stage again, and felt Rachel grab his hand.

"Come with me," she said, pulling him along with her. She led the way to her personal dressing room and handed him a package of make-up removing wipes. "Get your makeup off, I just need to do one quick thing." She took out her phone, typing rapidly while he rid himself of the heavy stage makeup. "There," she announced. "All that's left is your confirmation."

"For what?"

"Your flight to North Carolina, of course."

"What? You booked me on a flight? When? "

"Leaving at 8:45 tonight, and coming back at noon on Tuesday. You can't really afford to miss another show, Kurt." She handed him her phone, and he took it automatically. "All you have to do is enter the last few personal details, and press submit."

"So I'm supposed to just show up, a week after telling him that I don't want a long-distance relationship, and tell him… what?"

"You'll know when the time comes," she shrugged. He stared at her, lost for how to respond to that. Real life didn't provide a script. She leaned forward, taking his free hand. "Kurt, I've known you a long time. I knew you in high school when you still hoped to find that Prince Charming. Now you've found him."

"I never said that."

"You didn't have to. I could tell from the way you talked about him, from the way you haven't really been here since you came back from North Carolina. He even looks like Prince Charming, you said that yourself! Kurt…" She squeezed the hand she held. "This is one of those crossroads in life that this show is all about. It's one of those moments when the choice you make now will stay with you forever. Which choice can you live with, Kurt?" She looked at him intently before turning her phone, still in his other hand, toward her to read the screen. "You have…two minutes and thirty-three seconds to decide, before the flight I booked for you is released."

She sat back and raised her eyebrows at him in challenge. Kurt took his first deep breath in what felt like a week, and raised the phone to start typing his details.

His flight followed the same route he remembered from less than two weeks ago, and touched down at New Bern just before 11:00 pm. Only one rental car company window was still open, and the clerks looked relieved when Kurt presented himself to pick up the car that he'd reserved while on layover at the Charlotte airport. He walked away from the desk with the paperwork in hand, seeing the headlights of the rental through the glass door as one clerk pulled it up. He glanced behind him to see the other clerk pulling the security gate down and turning off the lights. No twenty-four-hour service here.

He used the GPS on his phone to guide him, though he was fairly sure he remembered the way.

It was two minutes till midnight when he pulled up to the security gate and rolled down his window, reaching out to punch in the code. He stopped before his fingers touched the buttons. Was he really doing this? He wasn't supposed to have the code, so in a legal sense, this was breaking and entering. And it was midnight, for God's sake. On a Sunday night. Blaine was a schoolteacher who needed to be up early in the morning. He was undoubtedly already in bed.

His phone buzzed. Rachel again. She'd been texting him since he left her to walk through security at JFK.

 _Are you there yet? Tell Blaine hi from me!_

Kurt put the car in park, feeling shaky, and dialed Rachel.

"What's wrong? Is there a problem? Where are you?" She didn't bother with a hello, cutting straight to the most relevant points.

"I'm, uh….at the gate. It's locked. I know the code, but I can't…Rach, I can't make myself punch it in. What if he curses at me for showing up without notice like this? This was a horrible idea. I'm just going to get a hotel room, because it wouldn't be any nicer to bother my dad and Carole at this hour. I'll go see them tomorrow, and come back to Blaine's in the afternoon, when he gets home from work. We can talk like two mature adults, at a reasonable hour." He said all of that in a rush, and was putting the car in reverse before he finished.

"Kurt Hummel, take your hand off that gear shift and you listen to me." He put the car back in park without hesitation, not even questioning how Rachel knew what he was doing. She could be spooky like that. "I did not spend $479 dollars to put you on a last-minute flight to North Carolina, _and_ order an Uber for you, _and_ give you a pep talk on the way to JFK, _and_ send my husband to your apartment to pack for you and race to the airport to meet us, _and_ stay up waiting for news that you'd arrived safely, just for you to chicken out at the crucial moment. You are going to punch in that code, drive through the gate, and knock on this man's door. And I _will_ be best woman at your wedding, and you _will_ talk about this moment at the reception."

"Any other part of my future you'd like to plan?" he asked drily, released from his near panic attack by Rachel's no-nonsense certainty.

"Well, in the immediate future, I suggest you and this Blaine guy have lots of sex. Just a suggestion, of course. In the long-term… you will name me as godmother to your babies."

"Anything else?"

There was a pause, then… "I'll let you know. Now, are you going to punch in the damn code or not?"

He looked at the keypad, and before he could second-guess himself again, pressed the four buttons to make the gate open.

"All right," he said into the phone as he put the car in drive. "The gate is open and I'm driving through."

"That's more like it. I'm going to hang up now, so you can knock on his door and declare your undying love. I expect a full report tomorrow. Goodnight!"

With a click, she was gone, leaving only silence. Parking the car, he made himself walk up the steps to the porch. This was it… the point of no return. Right now, Blaine didn't know he was here. He could get back in the rental car and only Rachel would ever know about his bout of temporary insanity. "Coward," he told himself, and raised a hand to knock before he could lose his nerve again. His knuckles barely contacted the wood before a loud bark sounded from inside. Well, if that didn't wake Blaine up…

Sounds rustled from inside, and then the porch light came on, nearly blinding him. He caught a glimpse of sleep-mussed curls through the window before the door opened.

"Kurt? How…. what are you doing here?"

"I…" He shrugged helplessly, caught in the spotlight of the porch lamp, improvising without a script. "I'm jumping off a cliff." He stepped into the cottage and reached for Blaine, who met him halfway in a clash of lips and tongues and wandering hands.

They were broken apart by a wet nose shoving between them, and Kurt looked down at Merida's hopeful eyes, panting as she whined for her share of the attention.

"Hey, girl." He dropped a brief pat on her head. "Does she ever…spend the night outside?" he asked Blaine, trying not to pant harder than the dog. One kiss, and his heart was racing. What would the rest of the night bring? And how had he ever thought he could walk away, and never kiss or touch Blaine again?

"Usually not the whole night, but she might be persuaded to go out for a little while," Blaine grinned. He opened the door wider. "Merida, squirrel! Go get the squirrel!" She bolted out the door so fast that she almost tripped over her own front paws, and ran toward the trees, barking. Birds squawked from above, indignant that the peace of the midnight hour had been broken.

Blaine closed and locked the door behind her. "Any particular reason you wanted her from underfoot?"

"I can think of a few reasons."

"Shall we… discuss it in the bedroom?" Blaine gestured down the hall, then started laughing as Kurt grabbed his hand and pulled him along.

They ended up with Blaine's head pillowed on Kurt's chest, their legs intertwined, and laid quietly for several moments before Blaine broke the silence.

"Kurt…not that I'm in any way complaining, but…why are you here?"

"I'm here because…" He trailed off as he tried to think how to explain the epiphany he'd had while performing tonight, the fear of thinking he'd screwed up beyond repair, and the crazy-fast sequence of events that had sent him from a Broadway stage to this quiet bedroom in another state, all in the span of a few hours. He laughed quietly as he remembered the catalyst that had pushed him to start his journey. Blaine lifted his head to look at him, and Kurt knew he'd felt the vibration of the laughter under his cheek. "I'm here because Rachel Berry is a force of nature."

At Blaine's questioning look, he tried to explain, as best he could, everything that had happened that night.

"Wow. I feel like I owe Rachel some flowers."

Kurt refrained from telling him how Rachel had suggested they repay her, because it was way too early to think about things like marriage and children.

"We probably both do. I owe her for giving me the push that got me here. Without her, I might still be standing in the wings at the Richard Rodgers, paralyzed with fear as the night crew mopped around me."

Blaine grinned at the image, then looked toward the door as they heard a bark.

"I have to let her in, otherwise she'll do that all night. Be right back."

Kurt grinned at the sight of Blaine's naked ass as he left the room. There was the sound of the door opening and closing, then Blaine passed the bedroom door, going to the kitchen, Kurt assumed. He came back with two bottles of water and offered one to Kurt before sliding back under the covers, sitting up against the headboard this time. Kurt sat up as well and they both sipped water for a moment, before Blaine put his down and turned toward him slightly.

"Look, Kurt…. I feel like I have to ask, and I'm not saying this would necessarily be a bad thing, but…was this just a booty call? Or is it something more?"

"More. Definitely more. Look, Blaine, if all I wanted was a booty call, I could've called any one of a dozen guys in the city and saved myself the plane ride. Though for the record, your booty is definitely worth crossing several states." He waggled his brows, trying to lighten the mood.

It worked. Blaine chuckled and the tension was broken, and Kurt leaned in to kiss him, just briefly.

"So… more, then? How… how much more?" he asked softly.

"As much as you're willing to give me. Blaine…I came here tonight to tell you that I made a huge mistake when I left a week ago. I was wrong to leave you and cut off all contact. I was wrong to insist that long-distance relationships never work, and we shouldn't even try. I'm here to ask for a second chance. If you still want to try for a relationship, I'm ready to take that risk, and to hell with the statistics. Will you… give me a second chance?"

He held his breath, waiting, and allowed himself to inhale again only when a smile slowly took over Blaine's face.

"I want to show you something," Blaine said, and picked up his phone from the nightstand. He clicked a few buttons, and passed it to Kurt.

It was an itinerary, for a flight scheduled two weekends from now, from New Bern airport to JFK, under the name Blaine Anderson.

"You booked a flight to New York," Kurt said, hardly able to believe it. "To see me?"

"Who else?" Blaine asked, taking his phone back. "I had it all planned out. I was going to surprise you at the stage door after your Friday night performance, and say again how much I wanted a relationship with you, and ask if you wanted me too."

"I do. I want you, as much of you as you're willing to share, and for the first time in my life I feel like I've met a man who I'm willing to give all of myself to."

He waited, hoping that he'd found the right words.

"I've waited so long for someone to say something like that to me," Blaine whispered.

"Is that a yes, then? We're doing this?"

"Yes! Always yes. We can-"

Whatever else he was going to say was cut off, as Kurt attacked him with a not-so-brief kiss, and rolled Blaine beneath him.

Kurt dragged himself out of bed when the alarm went off a few hours later, after way too little sleep. Blaine told him to stay in bed, that just because he had to go to work today didn't mean Kurt had to accompany him. He was having none of it. He'd come back to NC to spend time with Blaine, so that's what he would do. He would have to present himself to the administrative office at the elementary school to show ID and sign in as Blaine's guest, but if that one brief inconvenience allowed him to spend the day with Blaine at his job, then that's what Kurt would do.

Kurt followed Blaine down the halls smelling of pre-teen hormones and institutional cleaner, having flashbacks to McKinley High. They passed a few of Blaine's co-workers, most of them shuffling along with cups of coffee, trying to wake up and face the work day. Blaine introduced Kurt as "my boyfriend, who's visiting from New York City," and they seemed to revive a little at that, looking at Kurt with interest.

They eventually made their way to the music room, and Blaine flipped on the lights to show posters explaining scales and chords, band instruments against the back wall, an upright piano, and two choral risers that again, reminded Kurt of the choir room at McKinley. It seemed that even several states away and over a decade later, certain characteristics of a music room were universal.

"So… do you teach chorus, or band?" Kurt asked, eyeing the instruments and realizing that he'd never asked many questions about Blaine's job.

"Both, actually. I teach a little of everything, to all grades from kindergarten to eighth. This is the middle school building. The elementary students are in the building next door. Their teachers walk them over to take music class here."

"So you have to plan lessons for all those different age groups? Wouldn't it be easier for each school to have their own music teacher?"

"Oh, if only." Blaine shook his head at Kurt's naiveté. "In a small school like this, they're lucky to even have a music program, so the only way for it to fit into the budget is if one teacher covers all grades and the entire curriculum. There's no way this school could pay a choral and band director separately, or a separate teacher for each building."

"Your days must be wild, trying to cram all that in."

"They can be, yeah. But that's kind of why I love it, you know? It keeps me on my toes." Blaine rose up on his toes for emphasis, arms out for balance and grinning foolishly at Kurt.

"You're a dork," Kurt accused affectionately.

"That dorkiness wins me big points with the five-year-olds, don't knock it." A bell rang in the hall and Blaine dropped down on his heels, saying, "Speaking of which, the kindergarteners are my first class this morning."

"At 8:00 AM on a Monday morning?"

"Every Monday for the past nine years, yep. It's sink or swim around here." The noise in the hallway was increasing, as young voices overlapped and locker doors slammed. "You might want to take a seat over there-" he pointed to his desk in the corner— "and stay out of the line of fire till they're all in, then I'll introduce you."

The door opened and Kurt beat a hasty retreat to Blaine's desk chair, which would hopefully be safe. The first group of children came tumbling in, and over the next several minutes Kurt saw a side of Blaine he hadn't seen before. He greeted each child by name, and most with a specific comment or question that showed he knew a bit about their home life.

After settling the children on the floor in front of him, Blaine set two chairs in front of the group, sat down, and beckoned Kurt over.

"Everyone, I want you to meet a special friend of mine. This is Kurt, and he's visiting all the way from New York City." Kurt stood next to Blaine and felt every curious look coming from twenty-eight pairs of bright eyes. "Can you say good morning to Mr. Kurt?"

"Good morning, Mr. Kurt!" they parroted in unison.

"Mr. Kurt works on Broadway. He's a performer on stage. If you ask nicely, he might sing a song for you before you leave. But first, why don't we sing something for him? Kurt, can you hand me my guitar, and why don't you have a seat?"

Perched absurdly on the edge of a child-size chair, Kurt watched and listened for the next half hour, while Blaine sang standard children's repertoire with his young class. Some of the songs included clapping elements, which he recognized as a beginning lesson in counting rhythm. Every second or third song gave the children the opportunity to stand up and act out motions to the song, letting them work out their wiggles before they sat back down for the next song. Throughout the short lesson, Blaine called out praise between lyrics, singling out each child by name at least once. As unfamiliar as he was in methods of teaching young children, even Kurt recognized that there was a lot more going on here than just singing a few silly songs.

About halfway through, Blaine nudged him and whispered that he might want to start singing along to warm up his voice, because he hadn't been joking about singing for the kids before they left.

Kurt's first impulse was to tell him no, because he didn't know any kids' songs. Then he realized that he knew plenty of Broadway songs written for kids, and spent the next fifteen minutes singing along absently with the class, while mentally running through possibilities in his head. By the time Blaine turned to him and asked if he could sing something for the kids to wrap the class up, Kurt had made what he thought was a good choice. He started singing a cappella, and wasn't surprised when Blaine started playing along with him, only two measures into it. His boyfriend was just that talented.

 _When I grow up,_

 _I will be tall enough to reach the branches_

 _That I need to reach to climb the trees_

 _You get to climb when you're grown up._

The children looked mildly interested at first, but when the second verse mentioned eating sweets every day and going to bed late every night, he had their attention. Before he could get to the end of the song, with its excerpt of "Naughty" incorporated into the melody, Blaine stopped playing and said cheerfully, "Wasn't that a great song, class?"

They nodded and clapped, and a little boy in the back raised his hand.

"Can we learn it, Mr. Blaine?"

"Sure… but not today, because we're out of time. I promise we'll start on it during your next class."

The bell rang in the hall and the door opened to admit the children's teacher, here to escort them back to their regular classroom.

The children said thank you to Kurt at Blaine's urging, and were gone a moment later.

"Did you cut me off on purpose?" Kurt asked. He wasn't offended, just curious.

"I did…. because I don't want to deal with the fallout of teaching the kids a song that encourages them to be naughty. They don't need the encouragement, trust me."

"Oh… I didn't think of that. So I guess you won't be teaching them to sing 'Revolting Children,' will you?"

"God, no!" Blaine actually shuddered at the thought. "If I sent the kids home singing that, I'd have parents calling me before I sat down to supper that night."

Kurt laughed, and had a very strong impulse to kiss him, but the door opened before he could act on it. Turned out second period was the middle school band, so Kurt resumed his place behind the desk and watched from there, only waving hello when Blaine introduced him to the kids.

For the next six hours, he watched Blaine in his element, silently marveling that he could remember each child not only by name, but with personal details and whether they'd had trouble with the proper fingering for an A flat last week. His students clearly adored him, and Kurt's conviction that he'd made the right decision in coming back to NC and asking for a second chance at a relationship, only grew stronger as the day progressed. Blaine was not only excellent boyfriend material, he was a genuinely good person who cared about others.

Kurt was aware of his own shortcomings in personal relationships. He knew that he sometimes got too involved with his own problems and could appear to be uncaring of others. He couldn't imagine Blaine ever being accused of that. This man who sat patiently at the piano, playing the tenor part for the sixth time in a row for these twelve-year-old boys unaccustomed to singing harmony and self-conscious about their breaking voices… _this_ man could be his counterbalance.

He came out of his musings when he realized that Blaine had said his name, and took a copy of the sheet music and sat with the tenors at his boyfriend's request. With his strong voice in their midst helping them find the notes, the tenor section finally nailed their part, and Kurt gave each of the boys a high-five as the bell rang and they gathered their bookbags.

By 3:00 PM, Kurt was as exhausted as he'd normally be on a two-show day on Broadway. Of course, the fact that they'd stayed up half the night, lost in each other's bodies, wasn't helping his endurance any. He didn't regret it, though.

He leaned on the piano as Blaine tidied the sheet music.

"You're really good at this, Blaine. I'm glad I got a chance to see you work. I understand better now."

"Understand what?"

"The roots you have here, how deeply embedded you are into the community. It's not just your family, it's your students too. You really care about them, and it shows. I wish I'd had a music teacher like you… and if I had, I'd've had the _biggest_ crush."

Blaine's only answer was a smile and a kiss, which was interrupted by childish hoots from the door.

"What do you say we get out of here?" he asked, to which Kurt nodded in agreement. "I thought we might go see Dwight and Mary, and Sam if he's there, to tell them the news. Stevie's gone back to school. I'll call him later. Stacy will be over the moon about it, but she has rehearsal right after school, won't be home till later."

"Can we stop by the high school to see her?" Kurt asked. "I'd like to see a few minutes of her rehearsal."

"Of course. That would make her day. Shall we?"

He offered his hand and held Kurt's all the way down the hall and out of the building, only smiling at the few students left in the halls who teased them as they passed.

"Stacy's gonna flip out," Blaine told Kurt as they entered the auditorium at East Carteret High School. "I'm looking forward to seeing her face when she realizes you've come to watch her rehearse."

"Should we tell her? Maybe we should hide in the back and wait till afterward to say hello. I don't want to disrupt her concentration."

"Nah, it'll be good for her. A good test of her performance discipline."

Kurt grinned and followed Blaine through the lobby and into the heart of the theatre, where everything was abuzz with activity. Musicians were just getting their instruments out and arranging their music on the stands in front of the stage. A small group of girls were gathered around the piano, practicing harmonies. One of them was a tad flat, and Kurt found himself clenching his jaw a bit till the pianist stopped the girls and corrected the out-of-tune singer. On stage, a large group was walking through a tap routine slowly under the direction of their choreographer. A sound tech was fitting microphones on a few more students, and Stacy was with that group. She turned, lifting her long hair so the tech could slide the battery pack under her shirt and clip it in place, and saw them.

"Kurt! Hey!" She waved and was prevented from running to them only by the tech's firm hand on her shoulder reminding her to stay till her microphone fitting was complete. "You didn't tell me you were back. And that you were coming tonight! Oh my God, I have to introduce you to everyone!" She turned to the boy standing next to her, staring at Kurt with his mouth open. "See? I told you I knew him!"

"Umm, excuse me? I'm here too?" Blaine waved to get her attention.

"Sorry!" she exclaimed, realizing how she'd behaved. "Hi, Blaine. You know I love you, right?"

"Mm-hmm," was his only response. "We're gonna sit down over there, okay? Come talk to us when you're finished there."

As it was a rehearsal, the auditorium was virtually empty. Only a few seats were taken by parents who were bent over their phones while waiting for their children. They chose to sit in the center section, about eight rows back, and barely sat down before Stacy was there, excitement radiating from her in waves. She leaned over the seats to give them each a hug in turn.

"I didn't think we see you again, Kurt."

"I didn't think I'd see any of you, either. But I had a change of heart." He grinned at Blaine and squeezed his hand.

"That's awesome! See, Blaine! I told you it would work out! How long are you here for?"

"I have to fly back tomorrow, unfortunately. I have a show tomorrow night."

"Just like you have a rehearsal right now," Blaine reminded her. "How about you stop fawning over my boyfriend and go get focused, hmm?"

" _Boyfriend?_ So this is like, official now?" she asked.

Kurt glanced at Blaine, who nodded. "Yeah. It's official."

"My cousin is dating Kurt Hummel, a real Broadway actor," she giggled.

"Stacy!"

"Okay, okay! Just one more thing…. can you stay for the whole rehearsal? We're mostly focusing on the songs tonight, just skipping around wherever the director decides. First run-through is tomorrow night."

"We'll stay as long as we can," Kurt assured her. "Break a leg!"

"Thanks!"

She took off for the stage, and in a moment a group of teens were gathered around her as she gestured in Kurt and Blaine's direction.

"Sorry about her," Blaine said.

"She'll calm down in a moment. Once rehearsal starts, she'll need to focus on that, and forget all about us being here."

Sure enough, once the director mounted the stage and called the students to order, Stacy didn't even glance in their direction. A few minutes later, the crowd cleared the stage, the lights went down, and a moment later a single spotlight came up on Stacy, standing center stage alone.

 _A simple choice, nothing more._

 _This or that, either/or._

 _Marry well, social whirl, business man, clever girl._

 _Or pin my future on a green glass love._

 _What kind of life am I dreaming of?_

 _I say…. gimme, gimme._

 _Gimme, gimme, that thing called love._

Kurt found Blaine's hand in the dark and brought it to his lips for a kiss. It really had been simple, in the end. After all the angst he'd put himself through this past week, it turned out that once he made the decision, it was simple in retrospect.

They stayed for a few more songs, then when the opportunity presented itself to say goodbye to Stacy while she was sitting out from a group number, they let her know they were leaving and continued to the Evans house.

Mary and Dwight were delighted to see Kurt again, and congratulated them on their newly official relationship status. Sam wasn't home yet, as he was overseeing track practice at the high school. They had a quick visit with Blaine's aunt and uncle, and declined a visit to stay for dinner on the basis that they hadn't visited with Kurt's parents yet.

"They don't even know I'm back in the state," Kurt told them with a grin. "This has all been a bit of a whirlwind, since yesterday."

There were hugs and heartfelt wishes to see each other again soon, and Kurt surprised himself with how natural the embraces felt. His list of people that he felt comfortable being physically affectionate with was very short, and he hadn't known Blaine's family that long. But there was a genuine sincerity to Dwight and Mary as they welcomed him into the family, that helped him relax around them.

"This feels a bit like a publicity tour," Blaine said, as they got back into his truck to drive to the beach. "We couldn't just make an announcement on Facebook and go back to my place, fall into bed?"

"Tempting," Kurt admitted. "But I really do want to tell them in person. It's only about 5:00 PM. We won't stay all night, and then we'll find out just how sturdy your bed is, hmm?"

"Deal."

"Let's knock," Kurt said, as they climbed the stairs to the beach house. "I'm going to enjoy this." Holding Blaine's hand, he raised the other to knock on the door.

From inside, Carole's voice called out, and even through the walls they could hear the questioning tone of her voice, though they couldn't make out the words. Burt's lower voice answered, and heavy footsteps approached the door. A worn ball cap and hazel eyes appeared through the door's porthole, before Burt clearly said, "Carole! It's Kurt! He's got Blaine with him!" and the door opened.

A second later they were engulfed in a bear hug by one Burt Hummel, who was still squeezing the air from their lungs when Carole piled on from the other side, shrieking their names. Blaine squeaked at the increased pressure, and Kurt decided that was enough.

"Dad! Mom! You're gonna smother us!"

They released them but immediately started with the questions, both at the same time.

"Why are you back so soon? We weren't expecting-"

"How long can you stay?"

"Are you two a thing now? What changed your mind?"

"Have you had dinner?"

It was the last question that gave Kurt a chance to finally call a time out. He raised his voice to answer.

"No, we haven't had dinner yet. We'd love to join you-" He paused to glance at Blaine, make sure that was okay with him, and got a nod. "I mean, if you have enough. And we can answer all your questions while we eat."

"Well, come on in then."

"I just made a big batch of spaghetti. We were planning on eating leftovers for lunch tomorrow, but it'll be so much nicer to share it with you boys."

Over dinner, they told the story to Burt and Carole, making them laugh with a reenactment of Kurt knocking on Blaine's door at midnight. They announced their intention to pursue a long-distance relationship, and Kurt surprised himself by how good it felt to say it out loud. He also relayed the most recent news about his possible career change, and his hopes that the more consistent hours of a costuming shop might make a long-distance relationship more plausible.

"I mean, I'll stay with _If/Then_ till we close, but that's only a few weeks away. After that, I'll hopefully-" he stopped to knock on the wooden table— "have a Monday to Friday job. So at the very least, my weekends will be free, and Blaine and I will have the same days off. So if we go back and forth to visit each other, we'll be able to actually spend time together, instead of one of us having to work."

He smiled at Blaine, who nodded and said, "We'll find a way to make it work."

"Well, we couldn't be happier for you two," Carole said, and Kurt could have sworn he saw tears in her eyes. She cleared her throat and stood up. "If we get this cleared away, we have key lime pie for dessert."

Blaine jumped up. "Let me help."

"Don't be silly, honey. You're a guest."

"An unexpected guest who showed up at your door at dinnertime," Blaine reminded her. "The least I can do is help clear the table. Please, I want to help."

"All right, then."

Burt pushed back from the table. "Can't fit more than two in that kitchen anyway, why don't you and I go out on the deck a minute?" he asked Kurt.

He followed his dad through the sliding glass door and out onto the screened-in deck, breathing in the salt spray that he'd thought he might never smell again and wondering what this was about.

"What's up, Dad?" he asked.

"So uh… this is serious now? You and Blaine? You're committed to giving a long-distance relationship your best try?" Hazel eyes narrowed beneath the brim of his ball cap and arms crossed, he regarded Kurt seriously.

"Yeah, Dad. Blaine wanted to try all along. I was the one who said it wouldn't work, but as soon as I left I knew I'd made a mistake. So we're on the same page now. We're gonna try really hard to make this work."

"Hmm. So… how would you feel if I said that Carole and I are looking at buying a house here? Moving here for our retirement?"

"You mean… Dad, really? Don't tease me with that if you're not serious."

"We're serious," Burt confirmed, finally letting a smile grow. "We haven't found the right house yet, but we're looking. We love it here, Kurt, and we agreed. We want to retire here. Ohio winters are getting too cold for these old bones."

"Oh my God!" Kurt tackled his dad with a hug, laughing. "Dad, this is perfect. I wouldn't let myself think about what a nightmare it would be, trying to visit you in Ohio at the holidays and also see Blaine's family here… but now you're gonna be here! It's perfect!"

"It's been a long time since I've seen you this happy, Kurt," his dad responded, hugging him back. "And even if it's mostly because of Blaine, I'm happy if I could add to it."

Kurt laughed into his shoulder. "Definitely."

The door slid open again, and Carole stepped out with a pie in her hands. Blaine followed behind her with plates, forks, and napkins. She set her cargo down on the table and turned toward the Hummel men, who were only then letting go of each other.

"I take it you told him the good news?"

"Yeah," Kurt replied, wiping his eyes.

"What's going on?" Blaine asked.

Kurt took his hands. "You're never gonna believe this, Blaine…"

They left the Hummels' beach house soon after and arrived back at Blaine's little cottage by the sound. The older couple had only smiled in understanding when Kurt said that he'd be spending the night at Blaine's. They hugged them both goodbye and wished Kurt safe travels back to New York the next day.

"And how about you let us know the next time you're in NC, hmm?" Carole asked on the back deck. "Don't give your old parents a heart attack by just showing up when we think you're several states away."

"I'll do my best," he promised, and gave his dad one last hug before following Blaine down the winding wooden stairs so they could get in Blaine's truck and drive away.

They were greeted by Merida at the gate as soon as the two heavy doors swung open. She ran alongside the truck, barking joyfully as they made their way past the main house and parked at the cottage. Blaine opened his door and immediately had a lap full of Irish Wolfhound, as the large dog stood on the running board and leaned in to get her human's attention.

"It's past her feeding time," Blaine explained to Kurt, rubbing Merida's ears. "I'd better do that first, before anything else."

Kurt excused himself to the bathroom while Blaine tended to his dog and came out to find the door to the back porch open. Blaine stood outside, his back to Kurt, his toes only a few inches away from the water's edge. Kurt opened the screen door of the back deck quietly, and joined him.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked softly, after a moment.

"How the world seems bigger, and more open, now that you're back." He turned to look at him. "Kurt, that whole week that you were in New York, and I didn't know if I'd ever see you again, it was like I could feel the walls pressing in on me. Ever since you knocked on my door last night…. it's like I can breathe again."

"I felt the same way when I booked my flight here," Kurt confessed. "Even though I had a last-minute panic at your gate and nearly chickened out, really I made up my mind as soon as I clicked confirm. This just… feels right. Doesn't it?"

"So right." Blaine stepped closer and wrapped his arms around his shoulders, nudging Kurt's nose with his before kissing him. He broke the kiss far sooner than Kurt would have liked. "Y'know… it's no longer a full moon, like the first night we spent together."

Kurt glanced up to the heavenly body in question, not sure where Blaine was going with this. "Okay?"

"But it's still more than half full. I think we can give the night sky a pretty good show. Hmm?" He waggled his brows at him playfully, till Kurt caught his meaning.

"What, here?" He glanced at the wet sand where they stood. "Blaine, if you think I'm lying down in that, when there's a perfectly good bed a hundred feet away, you don't know me nearly as well as you should."

"Who said anything about lying down in the sand?" Blaine stepped back and pulled his shirt off over his head. "I've always wanted to have a makeout session in the water."

His shoes got toed off next, then his jeans came off… Kurt stood speechless as Blaine stripped down to bare skin before reaching out and tugging lightly on his shirt hem.

"You've got to be kidding." He made one last-ditch effort. "Blaine, it's the beginning of April. It may be warmer here than up north, but that water's probably freezing. We'll be shivering the whole time."

"Then we'll have to stay close to keep each other warm. And… I have a really nice shower, big enough for two and lots of hot water, when we get out." He started to draw his shirt up slowly. "For me?"

"Fine." Kurt heaved a sigh. "But my clothes are getting stacked on top of yours. They are not touching the ground."

"Fine," Blaine copied his exasperated sigh.

"The things we do for love," Kurt said, as he pulled his shirt off. He looked around before opening his jeans, but they really were quite secluded here. No one could see them from the street or through the trees that enclosed them on both sides.

Blaine stepped into the water first, and held out a hand to pull Kurt in after him, ignoring his undignified squeak of protest.

"Don't try to ease in, that only make it worse. Better to get it over with."

"I can't believe I'm doing this," Kurt grumbled when he stood waist-deep in the salt water. It felt absolutely frigid, though logically he knew it had to be well above the freezing point. He was in no danger of his parts falling off with cold; it just _felt_ like it.

Blaine shivered himself, but his resolve was clear even in the moonlight, as he stepped closer and ran wet hands up Kurt's arms.

"Can you… think of anything we could do to warm ourselves up?" he asked, playing coy.

Wrapping both arms around Blaine's waist, he jerked him closer, relishing the contact of their bare skin from head to toe. His hands slid down to his rear as he bent for a kiss. Right before their lips made contact, he whispered, "Gimme, gimme," and felt Blaine's smile, before he dove in and committed to giving the night sky a show.

* * *

 **Once again, I forgot to update this story on this particular site at the same time that I updated on Tumblr and AO3, and I apologize for the long wait since I last updated here. If you would like to follow me on Tumblr or AO3, my username on both is jackabelle73. My current plan is for this story to have two more chapters, and a possible epilogue. Thanks to everyone who's still reading this story... I'd love to hear your comments on this chapter!**


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